How to Accidentally Kill a Warlock
by Kitty O
Summary: One second Merlin is shaking Arthur awake. The next he's on the floor with a improvised dagger in his back. And Arthur's feeling terrible. What did he do this time? No slash.
1. 1: Of Fists and Broken Goblets

**How to Accidentally Kill a Warlock**

**By Kitty O**

**Greetings. **Alright, so maybe you want warnings. As I type this, the story has been finished for some time—I'm just proofreading an old story. So I can tell you exactly what lies in this story—There is angst. There is some torture and violence, but it's of the magic-spell-with-no-blood variety. **NOT** slash. Arthur beats himself up a lot. Morgana's a jerk. Oh, and Merlin's half-dead for like the entire thing.

**Beta'd by DarkAngel2112.**

**Summary: **When Merlin wakes Arthur up, the prince doesn't look to see what he's throwing at the back of his manservant, just tosses his goblet at him in irritation. And the next thing we know, Arthur's the literal meaning of the word 'backstabber.' Harsh.

**Chapter One**

Merlin staggered into the room, sleepy. He'd stayed up late last night; it certainly hadn't been worth it.

Exhausted, he made his way over to Arthur's bed. "Come on, Sire," he heard himself mumble, little more than a rasp in the back of his throat. "Time to get up…"

Merlin fought back a yawn. Arthur hadn't heard him, and he was much too exhausted to speak louder. His head gave a half-hearted throb and the colors of the world seemed to blend…

He'd steal time to take a nap later. Arthur would kill him, but that was too bad. Even staying on his feet was pure torture.

Merlin opened his mouth, trying to speak louder, but a yawn was all that came out of his mouth. Merlin rubbed his eyes and shrugged. He'd just shake the Prince awake.

He didn't really like the idea, as Arthur reacted quite strongly to being forced awake, but he hadn't the energy to talk louder and it was too dark to pull up the blinds and let the sun do the work.

Merlin put out his hands towards the Prince, but instead they rammed into the bedside table, and an expensive goblet fell to the floor, crashing. Somehow, Arthur didn't wake up. Merlin groaned and bent down to pick up the cup, noting as he put it back on the table that it was now little more than a sharp spike on a stem. He looked at the debris on the floor and sighed. He'd pick it all up in a minute, he decided, but for now he had to get up Arthur.

Swaying slightly, Merlin reached out with both hands and grabbed Prince Arthur's bare shoulders. He shook the sleeping man, mumbling, "Get up, Arthur."

Arthur moaned and rolled over, but Merlin was not to be denied. "Get up, idiot," he muttered angrily, renewing his shaking. "My throat's too dry to yell, prat."

Arthur came to consciousness suddenly. Someone was manhandling him. What was happening? He was being attacked!

Not quite awake, Arthur lashed out at his assailant, his hard fist connecting to Merlin's bony face.

Merlin cried out and stumbled back in a haze of pain. "Ouch!" he hollered. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Arthur sat up in bed, bewildered. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night!"

Merlin moved his hands away from his face so he could exclaim, "Dis is de time you dold me to get you up! You wanted do get up early so you could figure out wha' you would do for training today… remember? You hit me!" Dark liquid was rolling down the bottom part of his face as he spoke.

"It's not that bad, is it?" asked Arthur, trying not to be concerned. "I didn't hit you that hard."

"Yes, you did!" argued Merlin angrily. He ran his fingers down his nose. It didn't feel broken, but it was going to be a painful bruise.

"You'll be fine," insisted Arthur. He felt a little bad, but he didn't want to admit it, even when Merlin glared at him balefully.

Arthur felt a slight twinge of guilt. He had made a promise to himself at the tender age of eleven that he would never hit a servant. He knew some nobles did, but he personally found it disgusting. Arthur didn't know if his father, Uther, did such a thing, and he had never asked. He didn't want to know.

_Arthur had been outside of the castle, watching as a noble prepared to leave from a visit. The noble was very angry with a servant of his who had made some mistake, and the noble was yelling. The servant did not defend himself, and Arthur wasn't surprised. That would be out of line. Suddenly the noble had raised his arm and struck the servant about the face, eyes flaring. The servant's head jerked to one side, and then he stood still. Very still._

_Child Arthur had been confused. He'd seen men strike at each other before, in brawls and in practice, but this wasn't the same thing. It was different. But he couldn't put his little finger on how. Then the servant lifted his face again, wearing a bland smile, and the noble turned away, smug. The smile was gone in an instant and then Arthur could read the servant's face; it spoke of hatred._

_More bewildered than ever, he retreated into his room to figure it out. Why had the servant looked so angry? Men did not look so hateful when they were hit, usually. He had never seen that before, anyway. He was again faced with the childhood certainty that this had been different, not like the blows he'd seen exchanged…_

_Exchanged. That was it. In most fights, two men hit each other. In what he'd just witnessed, one man had struck a servant and the servant hadn't hit back. It wasn't a fair trade. Of course, the servant _couldn't_ hit back… He would get in huge trouble for that. No wonder he'd looked so resentful!_

That was when Arthur decided he wouldn't hit a servant, because it was like hurting someone who was defenseless. A worker might be physically fit, but they were trapped by their station, unable to fight back. It was wrong.

Arthur had held onto this belief and never raised a hand against a servant – excluding the times he whacked Merlin over the head, because he hadn't hit hard – until today. Until right now, when Merlin stood before him and bled.

"I will not be fine," insisted Merlin stubbornly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head back. "Oh, never mind. Just get up. I'll go clean myself up and be back to help in a minute, Prince Dollophead."

And he turned to the door to walk away.

Arthur was unexplainably annoyed at both Merlin and himself. Merlin for being irritating and himself for throwing that punch. He felt like he wanted a retort to give but had none, and it bothered him. Instead, he grabbed up the cup from his bedside table and threw it at Merlin's back, expecting it to bounce off and Merlin to rub at the back of his head, sullen.

That didn't happen. For one thing, the throw was a little off, and the cup didn't hit Merlin in the back of his head. For another, it didn't bounce off. The cup flew through the air, found Merlin, and embedded itself in his back.

Merlin lurched, his head going back in surprise, his mouth crying out, and then he fell forward. A small spray of blood erupted from where the cup landed. His body lay sprawled on the ground.

Eyes going wide, Arthur threw off his covers and rushed to his manservant.

Merlin was still, eyes closed, on his stomach, a sharp spike sticking out of the top center of his back like a dagger.

Arthur found himself screaming, yelling for help, for guards… somebody. Eyes wide, he stared down in horror at his servant's body. _Oh, no,_ he thought, _what have I done?_ _I've killed him. I've killed Merlin. _


	2. 2: Of Guilt and Possible Paralysis

**Chapter Two**

The door slammed open and in rushed two knights, swords raised, chain mail on, prepared to protect their prince.

Arthur was too busy staring at Merlin's shirt, which was rapidly turning red, to be impressed by this show. "I need Gaius!" he yelled harshly. "Get Gaius!"

The poor men skidded to a halt, bewildered, heads turning to the left and right. They couldn't see any danger; what was Arthur yelling about?

"Gaius!" demanded the prince, trying not to panic. "_Now!_"

At last the knights saw Merlin, lying on the ground, not moving. At the same time, their eyes went wide. Arthur itched to tell them that this _wasn't_ what it looked like—but he couldn't. Because it was.

Infuriated with their snail's pace – didn't they realize Merlin might be dying? – Arthur snapped, "I said _NOW_!"

Still in synchronization, the two knights fled the room.

Arthur leaned over. He didn't know if Merlin could hear him, but he said, "Hang in there, Merlin. Don't be dead." He almost hoped Merlin couldn't hear; the tremble in his voice was humiliating.

Seconds passed, and the fear ate away at Arthur, but he couldn't quite make himself check the pulse or look for breathing… because he was just too afraid. What if…what if Merlin was dead?

_Breathe, Arthur. Keep breathing and Merlin will too…_

Through the open doors came two more people, but neither of them were the Court Physician. One was the king and the other a knight – Sir Bors.

"Arthur, what's wrong?"

Arthur stopped what he was doing (carefully _not_ inspecting Merlin's back) and looked at his father in disbelief.

That's when Uther saw Merlin. "Oh."

Then, Gaius finally limped into the room, an apprehensive look on his craggy face. His hands gripped his bag of medicines and herbs tightly. The first thing he barked was, "Where's Merlin?" Evidently the knights had told him something.

He paused by the door, his fearful eyes taking in the surprised king, young knight, and half-dressed Arthur leaning over his unmoving charge… The knights must not have told him everything, because he looked horrified and cried, "What did you _do_?" in a highly accusatory tone.

"Gaius," warned the king, letting the name hang in the air.

Again Arthur felt the urge to defend himself, but instead just backed up as Gaius scurried to Merlin's side and knelt down. What could he say anyway? _'I'm sorry, Gaius, I just got annoyed and threw a sharp object at your charge, so now he might be dead and my heart feels like it's made of lead'_? Somehow he didn't think that would quite cut it.

After a moment, Gaius stood, face still. A death face. _Oh, no…_

Arthur nearly begged to know what was happening, but his father was watching. And he was the Prince of Camelot. He had to be calm. "Is he alive?" he asked, hating the coolness of his own voice.

"Yes, Sire, he's alive, but I won't know for how much longer until I take this knife out from his back."

Arthur was suddenly very chilly without his shirt. Knife? That word, the way Gaius spat it out… all the breath seemed to leave his lungs again. Did Gaius really think that he, that Arthur, would take something sharp and purposely drive it into Merlin's thin back?

"It's actually a goblet."

Gaius looked at him, and for a moment Arthur fancied he could read the man's thoughts.

Trying to morph from a little boy making excuses to a helpful young man, Arthur said, "So the pieces could be jagged…"

Then he tried not to wince. Helpful? Not really.

Gaius nodded, and perhaps his gaze softened a little. "Yes, Sire, I know. But I have to take it out to see if it has damaged his spine. I will be careful."

"Will you do that in here?" asked the king, sounding slightly distasteful. In his defense, the rug Merlin was lying on was very expensive.

"After I have taken it out, _perhaps _we will be able to move him, but certainly not before," explained Gaius. "If it hasn't already sliced into his spine, then it will if his back does not remain flat and still."

"It's going to start bleeding more, isn't it?" said the king.

Arthur felt himself stiffen. His horror and shame would like nothing more than to turn in to anger, and if his father was really suggesting that they leave a sharp object in his manservant's back because of a little blood…

But before Uther or Gaius could say another word, Sir Bors spoke up. "I'll get something to clean up with," he said sensibly. "Sire, perhaps you should get back to your rooms… you do have that meeting soon, do you not?"

"That's correct, Bors, thank you for reminding me. And Arthur, don't…"

"I won't, Father," promised Arthur, though he had no idea what it was the King wanted of him. The prince just wanted Uther out of this room before he lost his cool.

Uther turned and left, finally, and Arthur gave Bors a grateful nod. He'd always liked the man, who wasn't much older than Arthur himself. Bors responded with a stately nod, so deep that his short beard touched his chest, almost a bow. Then he too left the room.

Arthur watched intently as Gaius bent down again, and then got to his knees as he saw something. He gently reached out and touched Merlin's face… and his hand came away red.

"Blood," said Gaius. "Did it come from his mouth?"

Arthur knew what he was thinking - that Merlin's lungs had been punctured. The Prince, who suddenly felt like the worst of villains, had to tell the truth. There were few things he wanted less.

"No… It was a nosebleed."

"Why was his nose bleeding?" asked Gaius.

Arthur looked at the floor, his cheeks coloring like they hadn't in years. He felt so ashamed of himself, and he didn't want Gaius to think badly of him…

But, looking up, he saw the assumption in Gaius's eyes.

"I didn't hit him on purpose," blurted Arthur. "I wouldn't do that… It was an accident…" Arthur realized that he was beginning to babble – and worse, to plea – so he shut up quickly. Surely, surely Gaius was not really thinking that he would strike his harmless manservant.

And again, Arthur had to face the fact that this was just what he had done. He desperately wished he would wake from this nightmare soon.

Gaius looked back down at Merlin. "What happened?"

Arthur shrugged. "He woke me up this morning, and I don't know, I thought he was an attacker – I didn't mean to hit him. Then, he was just being so annoying that I picked up the goblet by my bed… I didn't know it was broken. I was half-asleep. Gaius, do you think he'll be alright?"

Gaius shrugged. "It's too soon to say, Arthur… but if that goblet hit his spine, and I think it did… Well, even if he makes it…" He paused as he looked up at Arthur, eyes bright with something that might be tears. "Then he'll probably be paralyzed."

Arthur looked the other way discreetly so that he could close his eyes in horror.


	3. 3: Of Removed Goblets and Blood

**Chapter Three**

Merlin was hurt. He couldn't move, couldn't see, and he knew he was injured. Fruitlessly, he attempted a moan.

There was no sound. He tried again, and this time he heard something a little like a whimper escape his mouth.

Where was he? Why couldn't he see; why could he not budge?

_Arthur._

Merlin was confused. What about Arthur? Was something wrong? And _why_ did he feel as though he was on fire?

_Arthur_.

Perhaps Arthur was in danger again. That must be it, yes. Arthur was in danger and needed help, but Merlin couldn't go to him. Which brought him back to the original question; why was he unable to go?

The pain swelled suddenly, and Merlin moaned again, this time inadvertently. He longed to make this stop so he could think straight.

He couldn't remember being hurt, but the pain was just as bad as when the serket stabbed him, so he knew this was no little injury. The scorpion monster… That had happened when Morgana and Morgause had him…

His stomach tightened in horror. Did they have him again? And what about Arthur? Perhaps they had the Prince; maybe they were hurting him like they must've hurt Merlin… That was bad. Despair filled him, taking up residence somewhere deep in his bones.

The pain seemed to subside slightly, allowing his thoughts to make marginally more sense.

Was this torture? Why? For what purpose? And _was_ it Morgause? If not, then who? And why couldn't he move?

What was happening? He wasn't awake, but he wasn't asleep. What sense did that make? And whose fault was this?

_Arthur,_ whispered a cryptic voice somewhere in the back of his mind.

Then the pain flared up again, worse than before. It flooded his body mercilessly until his last intelligent thoughts became submerged, muddled, distorted…

\-_-BREAK-_-/

_"Paralyzed?"_

No, no, that would never do—the voice came out as almost a squeak. Where was the prince in him?

_He's right here. He's just stabbed his manservant in the back. _

"Are you sure, Gaius?" That was better. Sort of.

"No, Sire. I'm not sure of anything. I need to get this goblet… ah, Sir Bors. Thank you," the physician said as Bors re-entered the room with an armful of fabric.

Arthur envied him that professional voice, so collected.

Sir Bors handed the sheet in his arms to Arthur. It was very large; just how much blood did Bors think Merlin was going to lose…?

Nodding at the cloth, Bors said, "I brought the biggest one I could find. It might come in handy if we need to make something to carry him to his own room in."

The idea made sense. Or did it? Arthur was having difficulty focusing…

Suddenly Arthur's head swiveled to the side and his eyes locked on Merlin. "He made a noise! Gaius, could he be coming to?"

Gaius looked alarmed. "I hope not… Not yet. He'll fidget and I need him still. Sir Bors, quickly, tear off a strip. Roll it up."

"For his mouth?"

"Yes," said Gaius.

Arthur's eyebrows drew together. "What?" he asked, rather stupidly. He reached up and rubbed at his face idly, unconsciously bringing some blood back into his pale cheeks.

"His teeth will clench," explained Bors practically, ripping cloth from the edge of the sheet. "Or snap shut. This will give him something to bite on, or his teeth may cut through his tongue."

Of course Arthur knew that, but for some reason he couldn't think.

"Here," he said, taking the white strip from Bors and rolling it into a cylinder shape. "I've got it," he added, dropping to his knees a little too hard. It hurt.

_Good._

Leaning over, Arthur reached out and took Merlin's face in his hand, forcing the cloth into his already-clenched teeth. It felt strange, taking Merlin's chin in his hand. Uncomfortable. Merlin and Arthur rarely touched—excepting the occasional clip on the head or pat on the shoulder. Arthur did not like to be touched as a rule, because he was the Prince of Camelot. But not all of Arthur's discomfort came from his aversion to personal contact. There was the… the strangeness of Merlin's facial structure. Arthur's jaw certainly did not feel so fragile, so thin.

But then, Merlin was smaller than Arthur. That wasn't some secret—he'd known it. Everyone with eyes knew that Merlin was smaller. Not a rough, tough, save-the-world-type guy.

Merlin gave another small groan, and his body began to tremble. Instinctively, Arthur yanked his hand back. But that was ridiculous. He wasn't hurting the manservant. He didn't think.

For a moment, Arthur wished Merlin _was_ rough and tough. He wished the black-haired man was bigger. Somehow that would've made it better, made him less vulnerable. Less like a small, shaking, bleeding boy…

Arthur felt his chest constricting, closing in on itself.

"I need to act quickly, before he awakens," Gaius barked at Sir Bors, who was already ripping off another, much bigger, section of cloth.

Arthur found the tearing sound of the fabric oddly and unexplainably appropriate.

"Here," said Bors, tossing Gaius the sheet. "Staunch the blood with that."

Arthur tried not to wince. His servant was going to be bleeding.

Gaius turned and put the fabric piece by Merlin's side. He reached out, hand gently touching the goblet stem. He would pull it out; it would of course be unreasonable to push it though.

"What should I do?" asked Arthur. He needed to do something.

"Hold him still so he doesn't thrash."

Arthur swallowed. His servant was going to be thrashing.

Gaius continued, "Sir Bors, make sure he doesn't kick. We need him still." This was assuming Merlin could still kick his legs. Gaius didn't add that bit.

Sir Bors immediately rushed to do his job. Arthur hesitated a split second, suddenly nervous. He felt sure that if he touched Merlin, then the manservant would begin trembling again.

That was silly. Clenching his jaw, Arthur forced himself to lay his hands on Merlin's bony shoulders. "I'm ready," he said.

Sir Bors nodded.

Gaius firmly and steadily pulled up on the goblet.

Blood welled up around the wound and Merlin began breathing harder.

"Quickly!" snapped Arthur, but Gaius disregarded his words.

Carefully, Gaius continued to pull, aware that a small slip of the hand could mean the difference between Merlin being okay or paralyzed, or even alive or dead.

Merlin opened his mouth and cried out in agony, the cloth falling to the floor. Immediately, Arthur grabbed it and unceremoniously stuffed it back in between the man's teeth, choosing to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. His hand flew back to Merlin's shoulder just as the servant began to wiggle like a worm on a hook.

"Keep him still!" barked Gaius shortly, and Arthur clamped down on the poor man's shoulder with one hand, the other pressing down forcefully on the very top of his back.

Thankfully he stopped trying to get away, but he continued to shake.

"Please let go," Arthur heard him mumble. "Please… stop…"

Arthur couldn't let go; Gaius was almost done now. He kept a firm hold on Merlin, trying to tune out the mutterings.

Merlin gave one last strangled groan, his face pale, and Gaius grunted… The goblet came out.

Arthur released Merlin at once, jerking away too quickly to look natural. He couldn't help it. To cover up, he grabbed the sheet and held it to Merlin's back.

Within seconds the fabric was nearly covered in blood. It was sickening.

"He's passed out again," observed Bors as Gaius took the sheet from Arthur, mopping up the blood in a practiced manner.

"It's no wonder," said the physician.

Arthur stood up. He felt like a vulture, leaning over Merlin like that. But now he had nothing to do. He was just standing, idle for the first time since he got up that morning… And idle was not something he wanted to be right now, because it left room in one's head for thinking.

Bors saw at once what Arthur needed: something to do, prepare for, something other than hovering. He understood the feeling.

"Sire," said the man, getting to his feet. He'd been holding Merlin's knees, but unnecessarily. They hadn't kicked, something that Gaius would find worrying when Bors had the chance to tell him. "You, too," he continued, "are expected to attend that meeting this morning."

He was? Was that what his father had been about to say before he left the room? "Okay…" he said hesitantly, trying to force himself to concentrate.

"Perhaps, Sire, you should get dressed for it."

Dressed? Arthur looked down at his bare chest. Ah, yes, he'd forgotten to get dressed this morning… but then, he'd only been up fifteen minutes. It was already the worst day of his life.

"You are right, of course…" muttered the Prince. "But…"

"Don't worry about this," the knight assured him. "Gaius and I will take care of everything. You have a responsibility to your kingdom."

The knight was correct, but Arthur was not soothed. How could he be expected to care about anything just now? His servant – one of his only friends – was lying on the floor, his blood turning a white sheet to a startling red. He was possibly dying.

And it was Arthur's fault for stabbing him in the back.


	4. 4: Of Poisons and 'Poen'

**WARNINGS:** Violence. Episode 2.12 spoilers.

**Chapter Four**

_Morgana tried to smile as she went back to tearing the rags, even though she knew Merlin had his back turned and couldn't see her. Everything seemed to be falling apart right now… Arthur was probably dead; Merlin would probably be dead too soon… But she still had to smile. Morgause had promised it would all be okay._

_It would all be okay._

_Tears that she wouldn't cry stuck in her throat, forming a painful, painful lump. She coughed a little, trying to dislodge it, but it did not go. Strange. _

_She kept tearing, hoping it would go away by itself… She didn't want to cry in front of Merlin._

_Merlin probably felt the same, she thought as he reached up and wiped his face discretely. She couldn't see, but she imagined the wet lines etching themselves slowly onto his face. Poor Merlin._

_She coughed again. What was with that? She coughed… She couldn't breathe. Perhaps her throat was dry. But she just drank the water, so… maybe it was something in the…?_

_Oh. _

_She gave a startled gasp, eyes focusing on Merlin, widening in horror. _

Oh.

_Was that her breathing or her thoughts? She didn't know… But perhaps Merlin guessed, even if they were just her thoughts, because he turned and faced her like a man. His face was tear-streaked, but his eyes told her he wasn't crying over Arthur. He looked her in the eyes, never flinching, and she could've sworn he shrugged. _

Oh. Oh.

_When he came towards her, she panicked. No, no he couldn't touch her! Could she stop him? Her arm stretched out, a useless barrier that he brushed aside. She scooted away; she just wanted distance…_

_Oh. Oh. Oh. _

_Distance. Get away. He couldn't touch her…_

_The lump in her throat was now a painful burning, spreading through her limbs. She kept choking as Merlin came towards her again. _

No, _she thought, _no, go away… Please… _She didn't want him to hurt her anymore. No more poison. She wanted him to stay back, keep his distance._

_Of course he didn't, and now she was too weak to stop him. She was completely at his mercy, but evidently Merlin wasn't going to press his advantage. He wrapped his arms around her, and she sank into his lap, her eyesight dimming as she choked again on Merlin's betrayal. _

_Oh, oh, oh._

_Merlin looked at the sky, praying, arms holding her tight as the choking began to stop and her eyes closed for what should have been the last time. She stared up at his chin – the only part of him she could see – and didn't have to admit that his embrace was a comfort. _

_She didn't have to admit it because, a moment later, she was floating away in a river of darkness, of death…_

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Morgana sat up in bed, eyes wide, breathing hard. For a moment, she felt teary, hurt, terrified… but then she remembered.

She was alive. Not dead. Morgause had pulled her from the river of death and brought her back. Morgause, her sister, not Merlin, her enemy.

Enemy. And with that word, Morgana felt her new heart kick-in and start pumping. It was an interesting new heart, and it brought her a certain sense of security, but it sometimes took a few moments to work in the mornings.

That second before it kicked in was always the worst second of her day.

But now she was back to normal and glad of it. She wondered how she had just had that dream. Usually her bracelet blocked any memories of that sort. She peered down at her wrist in surprise. There was no bracelet. Then where was it…?

She spotted it on her bedside table and remembered that she had taken it off last night because she wanted to check a cut on her wrist. After deciding it was nothing more than a nick, skin-deep, she forgot to put on her bracelet again.

_Stupid,_ she berated herself. _That's practically inviting nightmares. _

She picked it up and slipped it back onto her slim wrist, shivering a little at the cold metal. Then she got out of bed and looked out the window, checking the position of the sun in the sky. It was getting late… Where was Gwen?

Just then the door opened and Gwen walked in, her arms full of clothes, her head down.

"Gwen!" greeted Morgana, her smile a little forced.

Gwen nodded, her voice nasal as she answered, "Good morning, milady. I came in earlier and saw you weren't up, so I didn't waken you…"

"Do you have a cold?"

"No, milady."

"Then is something wrong?"

"No. Milady."

Morgana didn't believe her. She wrinkled her brow, confused that her usually-so-open maid was clamming up. "Gwen! Tell me, what is wrong?"

Gwen looked up. Her eyes were reddened, and her face looked a little swollen. "It's nothing."

"Obviously it is not. Did you fight with someone?" …Arthur, maybe?

"No, I did not," whispered the maid, as though she couldn't bear to talk out loud. She turned away and began to stack the fabrics in her hands, her black curls making an excellent shield from Morgana's inquisitive look.

"Gwen," wheedled the Lady, who was now curious, "I thought you told me everything? What is it? I will find out."

"…Merlin."

Morgana was surprised. The backstabber? What about him?

"What about him?"

"He… just got hurt."

"Badly?" asked Morgana, managing to keep the glee from her voice.

"I don't know."

Morgana smiled on the inside, but she put on a convincing mask of concern. "Oh, Gwen, I know this is hard for you."

"Yes, milady."

"You are so loyal, to still come to work, today of all days," added Morgana.

Gwen tried to smile. "Thank you."

"No, Gwen," said Morgana. "Thank you."

And then she got dressed, all the time barely able to contain her smirk. Still thanking Gwen for her trustworthiness in showing up, Morgana flounced from the room, going to get more information on Merlin's injury.

_I do hope it's something serious._

Morgana stopped a servant in the halls to get her information. What luck; he was actually the servant of Sir Bors, and he knew all about the unhappy business.

Evidently Arthur was responsible for Merlin's injuries, which involved a bleeding nose and a stab wound in the back.

It was just too delicious, she thought, as the man finished up the sordid tale. And as he walked away, she smiled.

_You know, _she thought to herself, _it's been business as usual for too long. Arthur's in a meeting and Gwen's busy; I can see that Gaius is taken away by a servant who promises to watch after Merlin, can't I? And the servant certainly wouldn't question it if I just up and offered to relieve him or her. _

_After all, Merlin and I have been friends a long time. I owe this to him. _

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Morgana nodded as the servant girl left the room, pushing the door closed behind her. "Yes, thank you, I've got it from here."

The girl, a petite blonde, nodded and smiled. With a curtsy and a "milady", the girl was gone, leaving Morgana.

With an injured Merlin.

Alone.

Morgana let herself smile. She hadn't looked at Merlin at all since she arrived; she was terrified that she would not be able to control herself. That the servant would think she was mad.

That she wouldn't be able to suppress the laughter.

Now, Morgana turned, her eyes resting on Merlin. He was in the physician's chambers, lying on his stomach with his shirt cut off, the blankets of the cot pulled up to his wound, but not covering it.

A rather nasty injury, she noted, and not all of the blood around it had yet been washed away. It was deep, red, and looked painful, perhaps deadly.

That's what Morgana liked most about the wound. She couldn't stop it now, just let all the malice and all the irony bubble up inside of her. And she laughed. A high, musical, pleasant laugh.

Merlin didn't react. Of course he didn't. He was half-dead.

"Oh, poor Merlin," she simpered out loud, walking towards him and sitting on a chair nearby. "I'll bet that hurts. Gotten yourself injured again, have you?"

She sneered and looked towards the edge of the bed. A bottle of some sort of herb was resting there. It was probably useless against a wound like this. If Merlin survived, it would be luck. Morgana wished truly foul luck upon him.

She continued her speech, her voice sickly sweet. "Oh, but wait. Maybe this one isn't your fault, huh? Yes, I heard what Arthur did. He's such a _brute,_" she drawled. "I wonder, can you hear me?"

She leaned closer to Merlin, hovering over his body, her warm breath moving the strands of sweat-slicked hair on his forehead. She felt his body give a small tremble.

She sat up, surprised. "What? I think you can hear me! And understand, too. Yes, I'll bet you can. Are you listening to me, Merlin? I was just saying how awful Arthur was. Do you agree?"

He didn't respond.

"How scared you must be. Why, I'll bet you thought Arthur would never hurt you!" Her voice stayed smooth and triumphant. Oh, she had won, and she could taste it sweetening her tongue and her voice. "I'll bet… And then, to have him suddenly _stab you in the back. _Poor Merlin."

Her voice dropped slightly, but she knew Merlin could still hear her. Even if he heard no one else, he had to hear what she had to say. It was only fair.

He was probably hanging on her every word.

"It must hurt, Merlin."

He gave a small moan. Instantly she was ecstatic. He did hear! But he couldn't do anything…

Her voice went down another notch. "It really must sting to have a friend betray you, stab you in the back while you are looking the other way. Not that I would know, would I, Merlin?"

Was it her imagination, or was his face getting paler? She leaned in close again, whispering. "Would I, Merlin? So you tell me. Does it hurt? Does it? Does it feel like you're just fading from the inside, like someone tore your life apart, not just your back? I really want to hear you say it, Merlin. I want to hear your lips telling _me _how it feels."

No answer, but, oh, how she wished for one.

Something pulled at her insides: dissatisfaction. This wasn't enough. "This isn't enough, Merlin. You aren't really feeling me, are you? You still might not understand. But I want you to. I want you to know the full scope of it, how it feels to be betrayed and at someone else's mercy…"

That was it. At her mercy. He was helpless here, with no way to talk, communicate. And she was just going to shoot a few little insults at him? No, that wasn't what she wanted at all.

"I'd like to hit you, Merlin, but I don't think I'm strong enough. I don't think it would make a difference. Merlin, I wonder if poisoning hurts worse than being stabbed? They say it depends on the poison. Shall I pick my poison, Merlin?" she whispered.

Nothing.

"Merlin?"

He didn't twitch, but his body was shaking again. That made her smile.

"How about Betrayal, Merlin? How about that?" And she reached out her hand… Her eyes flashed gold…

"_Poen," _she said.

She saw her spell working immediately. Merlin's face twisted; his breathing became strangled; his body twitched uncontrollably, the writhing misplacing all the bed sheets and pulling at his wound. His lips parted but there was no sound. His eyes flickered open and shut but they were mostly white, not blue.

She heard it again: his long, drawn-out moan, from the very depths of his soul, not seeming to come from his mouth but rather to leak from his pores with the sweat that glistened on his face.

She saw the wound bleed a little more, red liquid spilling onto the stark white of his back.

Morgana gave a twisted little smirk. "Not a pleasant poison, is it?" She let her hand fall to her side and watched his body relax, his eyes stop rolling in his sockets.

She continued, "But that's only the beginning of it, Merlin." She said his name like a curse, again lifting her hand and opening her mouth to cast another spell, one that would bring worse torment to the helpless manservant.

"_Mwy_ _Poen_," she hissed with true hatred.

Merlin stiffened instantly, back arched, his mouth opening again, his eyes flickering, but never focusing. "Aah," was the only sound he made. His face contorted into an alien mask, one she had never seen Merlin wear. She was going to continue, to experiment. What would happen if she closed her palm? Lifted it? Snapped?

Before she could test it, the door began to creak open. Morgana's hand jerked in her alarm, and she quickly pulled it back to her side. She jumped to her feet as her eyes faded from a silver-gold and spun to face this intruder.

Arthur stood in the door. He looked different from usual, she noticed immediately. His head drooped until it nearly touched his chest. His clothes seemed wrinkled, though she knew they were freshly laundered. His eyes seemed dull, though they were the same old blue.

Guilt and worry were the culprits, she guessed. _They must be driving him to near distraction. _

"Hello, Arthur," she said, hiding her disappointment. Her nice, vengeful little moment had been ruined.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Watching Merlin. Gaius had to go and tend to someone who was seriously ill, but he left instructions to go and get him… if anything happens."

Arthur looked at Merlin. "Has anything?"

"No," she lied. "Not a thing."

Arthur nodded solemnly and walked over to Merlin. "He looks awful!" he gasped, unable to keep the pity and the sorrow out of his voice when he looked at his bleeding, pale little manservant.

"He looks as he did when I came," said Morgana, attempting to sound miffed, as though he had insulted her nursing ability.

Arthur didn't notice. "I'll wait for Gaius to come back, Morgana. Thank you for staying with Merlin."

"What are friends for? Poor Merlin." And with one last, venomous look at Merlin, she turned to go. But she wasn't quite finished with Merlin yet, she swore as her memory acted up again:

_When he came towards her, she panicked. No, no he couldn't touch her! Could she stop him? Her arm stretched out, a useless barrier that he brushed aside. She scooted away; she just wanted distance…_

_Oh. Oh. Oh. Distance. Get away. He couldn't touch her…_

She gave one last shiver and let it go. Later. Later she would worry about that. The Lady Morgana had something else to think about… like Arthur. He seemed awfully distracted. _I'll bet he's just a little less watchful than usual. Just a little less on guard. A little less ready. _

That could work to her advantage.

_And Merlin won't be there to stop me. _

She smirked.

In the room she'd walked away from, Arthur picked up a wet rag and, gently, as though Merlin was something fragile, he wiped away the new blood from the wound, caring for the servant like he would a brother.

* * *

_Poen:_ Pain.

_Mwy Poen:_ More pain.


	5. 5: Of Sleep and Confessions

**Chapter Five**

Merlin was surrounded by darkness.

For a while there, things had been getting lighter, like he was floating to the top of a body of water, and he'd allowed himself to think that everything was going to be okay.

But he didn't like the light. All it contained was Morgana and her taunts.

Some of the things she'd said… They could not be true. _Could not._ Arthur would never, _ever_ stab him in the back. Never! But… did he?

_No, _he'd told himself. _He's my friend. _

But sometimes Merlin found that hard to believe. He sometimes had this sinking feeling that maybe Arthur just didn't care… and Morgana's words only intensified the feeling. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what was worse, her taunts or her torture. The things she'd said made him feel like she'd ripped his heart out: hollow and hurt. And that feeling wasn't a passing one.

It was truly terrible to be reminded of how much she hated him. What she'd said about Arthur—had that just been spite too; more lies? Perhaps she was trying to trick him, and she really had Arthur somewhere, needing Merlin's help?

And then the pain had started, forcing him to forget his questions.

Merlin had never experienced anything so awful, so hate-fueled. All rational thought was obliterated, destroyed almost totally by the agony that washed over him.

He'd needed it to stop. His body and limbs were tensing like twigs about to snap. He'd have given anything for it to stop…

After an eternity, it did, and Merlin's body sagged into his cot in relief. It was over. He lacked the strength, both physical and mental, to support himself and finish waking up.

Then, it started again, worse than before, as every nerve in his body seemed to catch fire. His mind was screaming, _No! Not again! _He couldn't do this again. _Gods… please make it stop; don't let her…_

Just a split second before he would surely explode into pieces, shatter like the goblet on Arthur's bedside table, it stopped.

He didn't know if it would start again, but he couldn't take that one more time. His mind retreated, pulled back into the darkness, trying to hide… He never wanted to come back up, not into that lighter world with its various torments.

Broken and defeated, Merlin lost track of his brain again, dropping back into his quiet, black sleep.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Arthur sat hunched over in his chair, glaring at his manservant. "Merlin, this is ridiculous, truly ridiculous."

Merlin didn't argue.

"It really is at least partly your fault. You are just so annoying, nothing but trouble, and I don't know why I even keep you around…" His own choking breath forced him to stop.

Sighing, he sank back into his seat. "You can't hear me, can you, Merlin?"

Of course Merlin said absolutely nothing.

"I was hoping… I was hoping you might even have woken up by now. You seemed to be coming to earlier… someone told me you started to awake again some time after I left. Why won't you just finish waking up?"

Arthur paused and looked into his manservant's face for a moment.

"And why, _Mer_lin, do you look worse than you did when I left?"

Merlin didn't answer that either, but lay on the cot, perfectly still, skin like marble. No one's skin should be that color.

Anxious, Arthur nearly began to wring the cloth in his hands, but just in time he saw that it was covered in Merlin's blood, something he didn't want all over his hands. Looking a little ill, he dropped the cloth on a nearby table.

Just a few years ago, Arthur wouldn't have cared what his skin looked like; he wouldn't have cared what happened to his manservant, except to feel guilty for throwing that goblet. But it wasn't just guilt eating away at Arthur now. If Merlin died… Arthur shook his head. He didn't even know what he would do, but he most certainly wanted Merlin to stay alive. Somehow Merlin, the annoying, cheeky servant, had become an irreplaceable part of Arthur's life, even if the prince would never admit it out loud.

The truth was that ever since Merlin came, Arthur felt like a different person. His whole life was a lot less lonely. Now he had Merlin to talk to, Gwen to open up to… Arthur's life was better as a result of Merlin's influence. He felt happier.

But now all of that was threatening to crash down around Arthur's ears.

_Stupid goblet. _

_Stupid Merlin. Please be okay. _

"Merlin," he said, "Do you have any idea how many times I've told you to shut up? You never would listen to me. And here I am, practically _begging_ you to say something… and you_ still_ won't listen. Is this some sort of payback? It's rather petty, Merlin. I wish you would just talk…"

He was rambling, now, just speaking nonsense in the hope that it might have some affect on Merlin.

Suddenly Merlin began breathing harder and faster. Arthur shot a look at his face; it twitched. Knowing that the cause of Merlin's discomfort was the wound that he had given the manservant, Arthur drew back from the smaller man. It was silly, of course, but Arthur couldn't help feeling that somehow his very presence was hurting Merlin.

Arthur hated that feeling.

Soon the pain passed and Merlin's breathing became soft and shallow, but Arthur didn't come closer. He sat there for a minute, his hands gripping each other and twisting, as though he didn't know what to do with them. He looked around the room, sighing again, feeling the gigantic mess of emotions inside him swelling. He was scared; he was sorry; he was mad.

Could the chair he was sitting in contain all of this? Surely not. Arthur felt sure it couldn't support him _and _all of these heavy emotions, felt sure that it would crack and break into splinters any moment now. Arthur rocketed out of his chair as through he'd sat on something sharp.

Listlessly, he paced the room once, twice, eyes that didn't want to see Merlin's body looking away, and the same blue eyes flickering back to Merlin every few seconds. He kicked at the wall irritably.

Finally he just couldn't take it. Throwing up his hands in exasperation, he turned on his servant.

"What is it you want? An apology? A confession? Then will you get better? Alright, fine! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I ever threw anything at you, or even thought about it. I'll never do it again. I wouldn't hurt you on purpose, Merlin, and you just can't die because of me! You can't die because I was dumb and half-asleep; that's a stupid way to go. And I don't want you to die because… because… alright, I'll say it! I do not want you to die because you are my friend. There. Are you happy, you worthless idiot? Now I've apologized and confessed, so wake up."

But Arthur's rant had no effect on the injured manservant. He continued to lie there, at death's door, his only movement that of his back moving up and down.

Arthur stopped pacing to glare at him. He walked right up to the cot—but not too close.

"Isn't that enough? Okay, I don't know what I'd do without you around to help me think. You're smart. And loyal. Some times I even enjoy your jokes. Now I've said it all, so Merlin, please wake up. Please don't die!"

Merlin breathed into his pillow, ignoring Arthur's words.

"You useless servant!" howled the prince, sinking into his seat and banging his fist down on the bedside table. It shook but stood firm, and the sullied cloth slipped down onto the floor. "Why won't you _listen_?"

Arthur couldn't quite make himself believe that Merlin wasn't making this happen, just pulling some stupid prank. He couldn't accept that no one here had any control over what happened to Merlin. If humbling himself, apologizing… If that would wake Merlin up, then Arthur would say anything.

But that didn't necessarily mean Merlin would listen.

Arthur wished he could order Merlin to be okay. But it didn't work like that.

Feeling defeated, Arthur let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. His elbows went on his knees; his face dropped down into his hands, which tangled themselves in his blond hair.

Arthur closed his eyes. He didn't cry, but his eyes burned beneath his lids.

He was still in that position when Gwen found him several minutes later. She'd come by to check on Merlin and ask Gaius if he would be okay… and she certainly didn't expect to find Arthur here.

"Arthur!" she gasped, not knowing what else to say.

Arthur's head flew up out of his hands; red-rimmed blue eyes met bleary brown ones. Gwen gasped. "Sire… I'm sorry, I didn't expect…"

"No, no, don't apologize," interrupted Arthur, standing. He swayed just a little.

"I… uh…"

"I suppose you came to check on Merlin…" said Arthur, casting a look in the unconscious man's direction.

"Yes," said Gwen, looking down at the floor. "How is he?"

"I don't know," admitted Arthur. "I'm waiting for Gaius. He got called away."

"Oh. Then I'll… I'll just come back…" Gwen looked up at Arthur for a split second, and then looked back at the ground.

Arthur swallowed.

Gwen nodded, forced a smile on her face, and tried to sound chipper as she said, "Thank you, then, Sire. I'll be going." She turned and made her escape out the door.

"Guinevere!" yelled Arthur, wanting her to stay. Why did she leave so abruptly?

She probably heard him. She didn't come back.

Gwen's heart would've melted, then, if she had seen his eyes when she walked away. It would have burst from pity if she could've seen the look in them when he turned and saw his manservant's bare back. The red, angry wound caused by the prince was easy to spot, even from across the room where Gwen had been standing.

_Oh, I see, _Arthur thought, and he sat back down.


	6. Omake: Insert Awkward Pause

*insert awkward pause*

Well, this is awkward.

Hi, I'm Kitty O, and I hope you are enjoying this story so far. Well, originally there was an author's note here, but since some people reviewed it, I didn't want to delete this and make things all confusing. I hate when that happens in a story I'm trying to review. But, you see, now I have a bit of a problem. You aren't allowed to post A/Ns as chapters. That's a problem because… Well, this is an A/N. And this is a chapter.

You see my problem.

I considered a few courses of action. And at last decided to post silliness that has to do with this story and give everyone a break from the angst! What's this called? An Omake or something? Eh, whatever.

Most people who read this story won't see this, as I finished writing the story months ago and I'm only posting this as I re-proofread it. If you actually see it… consider yourself lucky.

**Let's be silly!**

**.**

At the end of the day, Arthur sat on his bed and began to rub his ears. It was the weirdest thing… They seemed to be acting up. He was hearing things. A result of stress, no doubt, but there it was. When he'd grabbed onto that goblet, he thought he'd heard a hundred people suddenly stop breathing, as though in wait. When he'd thrown it at Merlin's back, he knew that he'd heard a gasp or two, and maybe a cry of "Nooooooo!" that sounded like Sir Leon in the season finale. Then, as he'd leapt to his feet, suitably alarmed by the fact that he may have just ended the life of the greatest warlock ever, he knew, he just knew that he'd heard a voice quietly chanting…

"Whump. Angst. Whump. Angst. Whump. Angst. Yes."

As he knelt beside his friend, seeing blood welling up around the knife, he only had one thought:

_Emachinescat? Is that you again? _

But no, surely not. That would mean he was in a fanfiction again. And when he was in a fanfiction, things always got messy.

**.**

Morgana's heels clicked as she walked out of the room, smirking in sadistic glee at having hurt Merlin, who she really liked hurting. Why? Because she was the type to hold onto childish grudges and hold poisoning against men who hadn't had any other choice and also weren't thinking straight because they hadn't slept in days. Also, Merlin wouldn't kiss her. And you know, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

As she walked away, she couldn't help but wonder. _Was that whole scene just for kicks? Is the author just that mean? Are the readers? Or… will that scene come back to haunt somebody in the future, during the climax of the story? _

(Somewhere in the dimension of the real world, a human female with a fanfiction pen name of Kitty O was chuckling evilly. Why? Because the word _foreshadowing_ was just the kind of word that made her want to chuckle evilly.)

**.**

Merlin was an all-powerful warlock.

Which meant that he, of course, could not be defeated by anything.

The only problem was that he was a very _young_ all-powerful warlock. Therefore, his powers weren't all they would be someday. And therefore, no fanfictioner could quite decide what he should be susceptible to and what he shouldn't. Kitty O thought that a sharp object to the back when he wasn't expecting a thing could injure him. She also thought that a mortal injury could knock him unconscious, which meant that he couldn't block spells placed on him. And she thought that if Arthur wasn't in mortal danger, he had no ability to protect himself because she believed he had no self-preservation skills.

How utterly silly. As if he could be so weak.

In this universe, he was a more powerful all-powerful warlock.

When Arthur threw the sharp object at his back, Merlin _of course_ saw it coming with the eyes in the back of his head that all all-powerful warlocks _of course_ had. _Of course._

So he just turned around, slowing down time with his all-powerful power and then simply stepping out of the way of the goblet.

It was just that simple. Arthur didn't notice a thing, _of course._

And then the fanfiction ended.

_Of course. _

**.**

Heheh. Okay, that's it! Get back to reading! If you think that I'm a horrible person for writing this story, and would like to see me get my comeuppance, feel free to check out **PoisoningPigeonsinthePark**'s story _The Whump Off, _in which a ticked off Merlin takes his melodramatic Mervenge. The link can be found on my profile.

Read on! Time to get back to the angst.


	7. 6: Of Cowards, Kings, and Blame

**Chapter Six**

"Arthur!"

Arthur jerked; his head shot up as he went on alert. What? What? His bleary eyes made out Gaius… Wait, Gaius? Now there was a sight he wasn't used to waking up to, not when he was completely healthy and uninjured…

Then why was he in the physician's chambers…?

Oh.

Physician. Injured. Merlin. Right.

He'd fallen asleep. Arthur shook his head to clear it. Last he remembered, he'd been sitting here over Merlin, wanting to go after Gwen but not daring to leave Merlin's side, just in case…

He must've been more tired than he thought, because now he was waking up. "Gaius," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night…" He smothered a yawn. "You're back."

Gaius nodded, taking the pack from around his shoulder and laying it on the floor. "Merlin?"

"Uh… he's not doing so well. But I just got here a short while ago; Morgana said he hasn't changed since you left…" Arthur hemmed, strangely desperate to get anything that might seem bad off his record. If Merlin wasn't so great right now, then it was Morgana's fault…

_This isn't like me. _

"Morgana?" Gaius's eyes went large and alarmed.

Arthur stopped. Oh,_ fie_, he'd done something wrong… "Yes, she left when I came… She said she was watching Merlin. What's wrong?"

Gaius scurried over to Merlin's side, his heart hammering. Morgana? That could only be bad, he thought, an odd, painful feeling settling somewhere in his stomach. He took Merlin's chin in his hand and tilted it towards him, letting out a gasp when he saw the color. "He's gotten worse!"

So Arthur hadn't imagined it. He looked at Gaius, brow furrowed. "Why? What… what is it?" He knew what was going to come from Gaius's mouth suddenly, and he dreaded hearing it. Merlin was fading. Merlin was…

Arthur was not going to forgive himself for this…

Gaius shook his head. "I don't know, Sire. Maybe infection setting in or fever…"

Curse Gaius, he was going to make Arthur straight out ask. "Is he… is he going to…die?"

"I don't know, Sire." Gaius saw the look on Arthur's face and took mercy on him. "But the pasty color won't kill him, I assure you." _The knife wound might, though, _he wanted to add. Gaius was angry at Arthur, but not enough to be quite so cruel. The young man was obviously distraught.

_Good, _Gaius thought.

Then he turned his attentions back to the injured warlock. "He's sweating." He put his hand on Merlin's forehead, nodding sagely. "Fever."

Arthur tried not to moan.

"Sire, if you could tell someone to get more water, and a fresh cloth for his head. This one," he said, picking it up off the floor, "is covered in blood… Did his back begin bleeding again?"

"It was oozing when I came in." Okay, he really needed to stop making it sound like it was Morgana's fault. She hadn't thrown sharp objects at a defenseless servant. "I'll get those things as fast as I can, Gaius."

Arthur stood, his back straighter than usual, and practically marched to the door. He would be glad to be alone, where no one would bother him, even if it was only for a few seconds until he found somebody to fetch what Gaius needed. It was a bit of a relief to be away from Merlin, to be away from having to face that gaping hole in his manservant's back.

And at the same time, it was torture not to be there, watching Gaius, knowing exactly what was happening. Wounds were unpredictable when they were that serious. Suppose Merlin took a turn for the worse?

Suppose…

No. Some things are too terrible to say, even to yourself, and some things are better left unsaid and unfelt. Like the fact that if Merlin died, Arthur was a murderer, plain and simple.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Gaius looked sadly over at Merlin. The boy was sweating worse than ever, his eyelids flickering like he was having a bad dream.

Gaius had a sudden mental image of Morgana leaning over him, her fingers touching his head, a spell for nightmares rolling off of her lips…

But surely she wasn't that powerful? It took a lot of strength to mess with dreams.

Then what _was_ she doing here?

Gaius shook his head. "If you were awake, Merlin," he said, grinding some herbs in his stone bowl, "you could tell me."

He sighed. "If you were awake, we wouldn't have this problem anyway. Wake up soon, Merlin, and you could heal yourself…"

Gaius closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply to fight back the strange feeling in his stomach and chest. At his age, it didn't do any good to get too upset. But with Merlin, that was hard to avoid.

Back a little more stooped than usual, he turned away from the warlock. There was very little he wouldn't do right now to see those blue eyes open, happy, and clear.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

He'd thought the spell was done with him. He'd thought that after he disappeared back into his protective cloak of darkness, it would all be over.

But that was evidently the wrong conclusion to come to. Either the spell was stronger than he thought, or this was just the ghost of that pain haunting him. Every few minutes, his nerves would begin to act up again, like there was a fire burning away in his marrow, and his stomach would curl in terror.

It wasn't so bad anymore.

But it was bad.

He needed a better escape than the blackness. But that's the thing about darkness; you can't find someplace to hide if you can't even see where you are.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Arthur brushed past his father and didn't even notice, so caught up was he in looking like he was okay, like he was unconcerned…

It was an expression Arthur wore almost all the time, and he'd grown used to it being a facile feat. But today he was having a hard time keeping those blue eyes steady, keeping those strong hands swinging easily by his side.

Uther stopped and looked back at his son, at the way he was walking. His scarred face creased in concern. Uther Pendragon was not an emotional man; he was not very observant either. But he was human, and there was something about the way Arthur held himself today that made the part of him that was a father alarmed. His son was obviously upset. Something was preying on his mind.

_It's the boy, _whispered a voice in his mind._ Merlin. _

Uther understood that. Though of course it would be inappropriate for Arthur to grieve in public, being…_ discomfited_ at the present situation was only to be expected. Though of course the boy was only a servant at the end of the day, and not a very good one, he and the prince had been together a long time. The boy had saved Arthur's life… more than once… but that was his duty. And then, of course, he had also saved Uther's life… and though it wasn't something Uther cared to remember, he didn't dare to forget it.

Hurting someone you were fond of was never a pleasant experience, especially if it was an accident, as Arthur claimed.

Uther turned on his heel and walked away, a little crease still between his brows. He just hoped that Arthur would remember the need for a king to be able to move past things like that. He hoped that the death of this boy wouldn't shake Arthur to a point that he had to take a break. With everything going on in Camelot lately, they couldn't afford to relax their grip on the kingdom or themselves.

Arthur was torturing himself by forcing his head to stay up. His neck ached a bit, as though begging him to let his head sink dejectedly into his chest and close his eyes. But he forced it up a little higher, finding a certain vindictive pleasure in denying himself the privilege of looking weak.

His stride was strong, his steps far apart, and his back stayed straight, but his eyes were dull, even though he tried to look alive.

He wanted to be alone so badly. Then he saw Guinevere, and he didn't want that anymore.

"Guinevere!" he called out, jogging a few steps to catch up with her.

She didn't look him in the eye. "Can I help you, Sire?" It wasn't fair, really, that whenever someone was angry with him, they could pull the royalty card and call him 'Sire'. He had no comeback for good manners.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it, realizing that he didn't know what to say to her. Sorry? Doubtless she'd tell him to go apologize to Merlin.

"Sire?"

"Gaius… Gaius needs some more water. For Merlin."

She nodded, eyes still on the wall. "I'll get that at once. Anything else?"

He tried to apologize again. "A cloth," was all that came out. It was official. He was a coward.

"I'll get it, Sire." She turned and began to walk the other way, but he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

"Yes?"

She faced him expectantly, and this time it was he who wouldn't make eye contact.

"Guinevere… I…" He looked at the floor, but his eyes would flicker up to hers, wishing for the courage to meet her gaze head-on. "I know it doesn't help much, but I am sorry… It was an accident, but I know that doesn't excuse me." As humans were wont to do when faced with a situation with an outlook that was particularly bleak, Arthur seemed to find his strength somewhere on that floor, and he managed to look steadily into Gwen's tear-filled eyes. "I know you must hate me… Merlin's one of your best friends, but I just… needed to apologize. To you."

"Arthur," she started, but her voice cracked. She blinked, once, twice, and a tear fell from her eye.

Arthur resisted the urge to wipe it away. If he did, he might not be able to stop himself, and he would take her in his arms right here, where anyone could walk in. And he might never let go.

Thinking she wasn't going to speak again, he quickly muttered, "No, Guinevere, it's alright, I understand…"

"No, it's not that… Arthur, I don't blame you." She sniffed and hiccupped a bit, the tears dying down a little.

Arthur was astonished. "But I… I threw that…"

"No, I know, I know it's your fault, but I don't really blame you." At his confused expression, she almost chuckled. "I mean, I'm not angry at you. It was an accident… I know you wouldn't have done that if you thought…" She bit her lip. "I'm not angry, I just can't bear to think about it too long, I…"

The tears came back full-force and began to roll down her cheeks, each one ripping a little at Arthur's heart. It was awful to think that he'd driven her to tears.

She sucked in her cheeks, desperately trying to keep back the sobs. Arthur watched her with sad eyes.

"Merlin…" she tried again. "Just…"

He stopped her. "I know."

She nodded weakly. "I… I have to go get those things for Gaius now. Merlin."

Arthur sighed. "Yeah. Merlin." He paused. "I think I'll go with you."

"Don't you have something to do, Arthur?" she asked, but looked like she hoped that he didn't.

"I'm sure I do. Frankly, I don't care." He just didn't want to be alone with the thought of Gwen crying. He'd rather be walking beside the now dry-eyed girl.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"Arthur, there you are. And Gwen. Here, I'm going to rub some of this into the wound to keep back the infection."

Arthur put a great effort into not wincing.

"Gwen, can you stay?"

Gwen bit her lip. "Morgana needs me, but if _you_ need me, I maybe could talk to her."

Gaius shook his head, determined not to bring Morgana into this, even indirectly. "Arthur, you can help instead."

Gwen curtsied her thanks and scrambled from the room, late to see Morgana. Arthur tried to smile, but just managed a grimace.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Just keep the wet cloth on his face. The water's cool; hopefully it will help with the fever."

Arthur nodded. It wasn't a hard job, but he had a problem with it. To do as Gaius asked, he'd have to touch Merlin. And every time he did that, Merlin seemed to grow agitated and shaky, as though repulsed by Arthur's touch.

And that was worse than anger. Merlin's involuntary reaction turned Arthur's stomach, made his heart feel heavy with guilt.

"Sure, Gaius." He took the cloth, dipping it into the water pail and wringing it out.

Gaius turned to Merlin, still facedown on the hard table for patients, dipping his own fingers in an orange-ish paste.

Arthur swallowed, telling himself that he was being silly, and made his way over to Merlin's head. He reached out… and hesitated.

"Go ahead," said Gaius.

Tentatively, Arthur wiped at the sweat on Merlin's forehead.

Merlin, still unconscious, shuddered.

Heart thudding, Arthur looked over to see if Gaius noticed. But if the physician noticed something, he said nothing, so Arthur continued cooling Merlin's face. The young manservant trembled again, causing Arthur's throat to constrict.

Suddenly Merlin let out a cry, and Arthur jerked back instinctively. The servant's face twisted painfully.

"It's okay, Arthur," said Gaius, who was looking now. "It's going to hurt for me to rub this in, but it will help fight the infection. I need some honey…"

Merlin cringed a little longer, but soon the expression fell away from his face. Was that cry really caused by Gaius? Arthur wished it were so, but somehow he couldn't believe it.

Somehow he forced himself to step back up to Merlin and do as Gaius commanded once more. He tried to prepare himself for more shudders and groans, but there were none. Merlin had gone completely still, except for the slightly-off-rhythm rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

\-_BREAK-_-/

Something was wrong. Something was breaking into his little box that he'd set up for himself, and he didn't like it. He recognized it. A touch, one that he knew immediately, and all the better for feeling it so rarely.

_Arthur. _

"_Maybe this one isn't your fault, huh? Yeah, I heard what Arthur did." She leered._

_He remembered wondering whose fault this was, and why he couldn't budge. _

_Arthur. _

"_He's such a brute…"_

_He remembered being on fire. _

_Arthur. _

"_I'll go clean myself up and be back to help in a minute, Prince Dollophead."_

_He remembered walking away. And then something hitting his back._

_Arthur._

_Arthur did it._

His mind was reeling, balking at the thought that suddenly seemed to dawn on him. He didn't want to accept it. But his own brain told him it was true. He was injured. He may have been dying.

It was Arthur's fault. Arthur did this.

On purpose? That unwelcome idea, which he could neither exclude nor accept, was so painful to Merlin that he cried out, very nearly coming back to consciousness.

Then, overcome, he once more slipped out of his half-aware state, away even from the darkness, back into the place where he knew nothing at all, not princes or punishment, not love or leering voices. Even the haunting echo, _Arthur, _couldn't follow him down there.


	8. 7: Of Plots and Awakenings

**Chapter Seven**

Arthur sank into his bed in a sitting position.

His room was so very dark and dull… funny that it had never seemed so before. The reason could be that the servant who helped him with his bedtime routine made no jokes, didn't smile, and didn't seem to care to try and brighten things up. This servant had been respectful, silent, and distant.

In other words, the servant hadn't been Merlin.

The servant hadn't been Merlin because Arthur had stabbed Merlin in the back, so Merlin was presently dying.

Arthur groaned and let his head fall into his hands. No matter what train of thought he decided to follow, he always ended with the same thoughts: Merlin. Lack of Merlin. And then, why Merlin wasn't here now.

He suspected that Merlin had been perpetually on his mind for a while now, perhaps even years (except, of course, when thinking of Gwen). This made sense, since Arthur now seemed to spend every waking hour with his servant, excluding the times that Merlin was running chores, sleeping, or missing (which happened a lot, strangely). That Merlin should worm his way into the prince's head as well as his life was not unlikely.

That the manservant should worm his way into Arthur's heart as well was just plain ridiculous and showed that Merlin was sneakier than Arthur thought.

Actually, Merlin did have better coordination than Arthur originally believed, and perhaps it had improved recently… After all, he ducked now when Arthur threw things at him… Most of the time.

But not this morning, when Arthur stabbed Merlin in the back, so Merlin was, at this moment, dying…

Oh, drat, there he went, thinking of that morning again! Arthur couldn't seem to think of anything else, and how would he fall asleep if he was being bombarded by these guilty thoughts?

He had the feeling that he shouldn't be here, sitting on his comfy bed, anyway. He should be down there, helping to take care of unconscious Merlin. But Gaius had sent him away with the dire words:

"If you don't get enough sleep, Sire, the King will be upset."

That sent Arthur scurrying to his room like a child. Uther didn't particularly like Merlin, from what Arthur had seen. (He had seen crushed flowers, dismissive words, and prison bars that kept his servant inside.) And so, Arthur didn't feel the need to bring his servant's situation to Uther's attention any more than necessary. Who knew what rule he would make up now so that Merlin would die, for certain? Perhaps this time it would be completely inappropriate for Gaius to treat his own ward…

With difficulty, Arthur swallowed his anger towards his father. This wasn't Uther's fault. Uther didn't want Merlin to die; he just didn't care. Indifference, though it was maddening, didn't make him guilty for what happened to Merlin. Neither did Morgana's being in the same room with Merlin make her guilty for his decline!

But it was just so much easier to blame them.

And it made him feel better.

Uther didn't care what happened to Merlin. Morgana seemed to be rather distant as well, and her friendship with Merlin had gone downhill as of late. Gwen was as upset as Arthur, but not as guilty.

If Merlin was to die, he thought that they all would return to normal eventually, some sooner than others. Life would continue. People would still live and die and eat and breathe and get born and married. The world without Merlin was not going to simply stop, freeze, and wither away. Even Arthur, racked with guilt, would learn to just live with it, to let Merlin go.

That thought terrified him most of all.

Arthur gave another moan and let himself fall backward, spread-eagle on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Lying on this bed felt strange. His hand kept itching to reach out and grab something by his bed, to throw it sleepily… He kept looking up and thinking he was seeing Merlin walk towards the door. Oh, why hadn't he just let his servant walk through that door undisturbed? Why did he have to pick up that goblet and toss it at that hapless, klutzy excuse for a servant?

Arthur looked away from his door and back to the ceiling, but it was too late.

He could see the goblet sailing through the air, spinning, ever closer to his servant's unprotected back. Then the moment it hit, frozen in time, slicing through Merlin's skin. Red exploded at the top of his back. Merlin spasmed, arms thrown back, head up, knees bent, suspended in time.

For the rest of the night all he could see was Merlin, stuck in the split second before he collapsed to the ground, the split second before everything registered with Arthur.

Eventually he slept, but even there Merlin haunted him mercilessly.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Morgana never felt at home in the castle anymore. She was always a tight ball of tension, of discomfort. She was among people she detested now, and would rather crush every brick of this castle than look at it.

Sometimes she thought she was going crazy, completely alone, and it was one thought that made her feel sick.

Only one voice could make her feel better again; only one pair of arms made her feel at home. There was one person that she knew would never hurt her, only help her and love her.

A whisper reached Morgana's ears.

"Sister."

Morgana felt better instantly as she turned around and hugged Morgause, who had come to her in the castle. They now stood in a hallway where they could see any guards coming from far off, but which wasn't far from Morgana's room.

Morgause hugged her back, a genuine smile on her face, but then pushed her away and, still in a whisper, asked, "Why have you called me?"

Morgana smiled wickedly. "I think our chance to take Camelot has come."

Morgause was delighted. "Really? What makes you say so?"

"Merlin, the meddling servant, is injured."

"Badly?" Morgana watched as something lit up Morgause's eyes with glee—it was the sight of hundreds of plans hiding in Morgause's brains, all of which could come to be reality now that there was no one to hinder the sisters.

"He's dying."

Morgause smiled.

"And it's Arthur's fault."

Morgause was almost beaming. "How?"

"He threw the knife. Of course it was an accident," simpered Morgana, "but he still feels guilty… It is practically eating him alive. So Arthur is rather distracted, and as a result…"

"…His knights, too, are less than perfectly alert?"

Morgana could barely keep from squealing as she nodded. "Everyone becomes distracted when the royalty is distracted. Now is the perfect time."

Morgause nodded, her eyes wide from sheer wonder. "Why don't we wait until the servant is dead? Arthur will be all the more distracted, and his knights will be even less ready."

Morgana shook her head. "There is no guarantee that he will die."

"I thought he was stabbed?"

Morgana smirked a little and retorted, "But this is Merlin. He has done stranger things than heal from a knife wound."

"Indeed." Morgause shook her head. "I can get Cenred to send me his men, and use some spells to make them more powerful, but it will take a few days anyway. He must not get better, this servant, or we risk him finding us out and perhaps warning Arthur. But he cannot die too soon, either, or Arthur may become more alert on his own."

Morgana's smirk turned into a full sneer. "If he seems to be declining or improving, I will step in and… help."

Morgause looked at her sister carefully, wondering if the dark-haired beauty over-estimated her strength, but at last decided to let it go. Morgana needed the practice… and besides, if something she couldn't handle did happen in the next few days, surely Morgana would get Morgause for assistance.

"Very well. I shall alert Cenred and prepare the spells."

That worried Morgana a little, and her eyebrows drew together as she said, still in that low whisper, "Just some spells? Is that all we will have on our side?"

Morgause chuckled and shook her head 'no'. Her smile showed all her teeth as she promised, "We shall have the element of surprise. And, shortly, we shall have Prince Arthur."

"We shall?"

"With a little help from you, the woman he considers a sister."

Morgana's face cleared as she smiled in relief. If they had Arthur, the best of Camelot and the leader of the knights, what could stop them?

They could take Camelot. They could kill Uther.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Again something disturbed him, and he came back from nothingness and into the lighter blackness.

He could think again. He existed again.

He wasn't sure he liked that.

But something odd was going on as he floated there, unconscious, thoughts whirling about him. The black became charcoal gray.

From there, it became a lighter gray.

What was going on? What was disturbing his peace again? He so hoped it wasn't Morgana… He couldn't take any more than of that.

He saw it, then, and his heart nearly stood still. He was waking.

No! No, he didn't want to awake! He wanted the black and the calm, not the pain and the awareness. The light held Morgana, knives, an Arthur who would hurt him.

No, no, not that. He tried to grab on, dig his nails into nonexistent walls, sink back into the dark… But his own mind pushed him forward.

He didn't want to be aware…

He didn't want to see Arthur…

But it was getting lighter. His mind was almost clearing. His pains grew stronger, his back ached and his nerves jumped…

_NO!_ No, he insisted, no. No Morgana, no glaring light, no _poen_, no!

But he had no choice. It was getting cold, so cold. He shivered. His eyes flickered behind closed lids. He was coming forward, approaching the light, but he wanted the dark and the nothing. He wanted peace.

With a final mental cry, he came to an awareness of sorts - if it could indeed be called that – and gasped for air.

His eyes opened in the night as his chest lurched up and down, but they did not take in the wood touching his face or the room around him. He shook despite the blanket that covered him, chilled to the bone with fever, and the blue of his eyes shone brightly with delirium.


	9. 8: Of Obedience and Delirium

**Chapter Eight**

"Arthur!"

_Not again, _thought Arthur, half-asleep. _Why _did everyone keep waking him up? _Why? _

Outside his door, he heard voices talking. Loudly.

"Gwen, don't go in, he'll be sleeping."

"He'll want to know this!"

"I can't just let you wake up the Prince; I'm sorry. Come back later, okay?"

"But…"

Arthur yawned and began to inch out of bed. It sounded like Gwen needed help. Of course, had it been Morgana or even Merlin who ran into whoever it was blocking the door, they would've pushed right past. But Gwen wasn't like that.

And really, it would've been a nice thought to let him sleep… had the voices not woken him up.

"I'm really going to have to tell you to go…"

"But it's about his manservant, Merlin!"

Arthur shook his head so he could wake up more fully and picked up his pace, reaching the door and throwing it open.

"Sire!" said the guard gruffly. "I'm sorry, but—"

"It's okay," Arthur cut him off, fighting back a yawn. "I don't mind. You may go; I don't need anything."

"But, Sire, it's the middle of the night…"

"You may go," Arthur repeated, teeth clenched, his voice the deadly calm that nobody wise would argue with.

The guard was wise. He scampered. Arthur watched him go with a look that could pass as a glare. "What was he hanging around for anyway?" he grumbled.

"Arthur?" Gwen got his attention.

"Come in, Guinevere," said Arthur, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"No, uh…" Gwen, unlike Arthur, remembered that it was the middle of the night… and that Arthur wasn't wearing his shirt.

"It's about Merlin?" he continued, grabbing her arm and pulling her inside so they could talk. She tried (and failed) not to notice that he shut the door behind her, and that they were completely alone. The thought made Gwen uncomfortable.

"Is he…?" Arthur's face creased in concern.

"He woke up," she informed him.

His face lit up. "How long ago?"

"We don't know exactly… not too long. He's… he's delirious."

Arthur's eyebrows went down. "But you don't know how long he's been awake? What, he's just been lying there all alone, feverish and babbling…?"

Gwen blushed. "It hasn't been that long, _really_, Arthur. He was talking to himself and Gaius heard and fetched me, and I thought you would want to know…"

"Of course I do!" Arthur made for the door, but Gwen stopped him.

"Arthur, it is far past midnight…"

"I don't care about that!

"Well, at least put a shirt on!" she insisted.

"What?" Arthur looked down. "Right. Right…"

"I'll tell Gaius you'll be right down," she assured him, gently brushing his arm and then turning and exiting the room.

Arthur watched her go, fighting the urge to bite his lip worriedly. He'd been wishing for Merlin to wake up since that morning – no, make that yesterday morning – but now he was worried.

_Delirious?_

Arthur shook his head again and went to grab a shirt.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Merlin's fingers gripped and pulled on the side of the patient bed, his knuckles whitening.

"Merlin…" Gaius clucked like a worried hen and rushed across the dimly lit room, stopping Merlin as he moved again, trying to drag his body to the edge of the bed so he could stand. His legs didn't so much as twitch, though, and Gaius noticed it with some unease, remembering what he told Arthur yesterday... (_But,_ he spluttered in his thoughts,_ it wasn't possible. Merlin _has_ to walk again.)_

Merlin fell back, gasping. "_Arthur…"_ he muttered, his voice distant. "He needs me."

"No, Merlin," the physician tried to assure him, "he's fine; he doesn't need help. But you aren't fine... You need to lie down."

Merlin looked up at him with dazed blue eyes and said with difficulty, "But Morgana said…" His grip tightened on the wood. "She… he…"

Gaius gently pried Merlin's sweaty hand away from the edge of the bed. His heart thudded in apprehension as he repeated after Merlin, "Morgana said?"

He nodded and, putting his head down so his forehead rested on his other arm, Merlin moaned, "_What did he_ _do_?"

Eyes flickering guiltily to the hole in Merlin's back, Gaius assured him, "Nothing, Merlin. He's done nothing." What had Morgana told Merlin?

Switching tacks again, Merlin mumbled, "He's in trouble. _Morgana…_ I need… to go help…"

He tried to stand again, but Gaius held him down.

Behind him, the door opened and Gwen stepped in, squinting in the lantern light. "Gaius? How is he?"

Gaius sighed. "Not good; he keeps speaking nonsense… and trying to get up. I might be holding him down all night."

"I told Arthur he was up, and he said to tell you that he'd be right down," Gwen said, making her way across the room.

"_Mother."_

Gwen looked down at Merlin with alarm.

"I told you, he keeps talking about different things, none of which make any sense." Gaius was sorry for Merlin, but also relieved that he didn't choose now to start spilling all his secrets. Now was not the time to explain everything to Gwen.

Gaius shuddered at the very thought of some of the hidden secrets that Merlin _could _reveal in this state.

Eyes sad, Gwen guessed, "He's calling for Hunith?"

Merlin tried to pull away from Gaius, his forehead creasing. "Mother, I _will_ be okay in Camelot…"

Gaius shrugged. "Evidently he thinks that he's talking to her."

The door opened again and Arthur stepped through, fully dressed. He shut the door behind him, taking a little longer than necessary to turn around. "Merlin?" he asked.

Gaius gestured at the warlock. "He's awake."

"Gwen said he's delirious."

"He has a high fever… Gwen, please hand me that wet cloth, and that cup… I'm going to try to get him to drink again."

Arthur looked at Merlin, who was at the moment insisting that something was all his fault. The sheen of sweat was easily to see all over the manservant's body in the light cast by the lanterns. "He won't drink?"

"He seems to think he has more important things to do," remarked Gaius, his dry humor belying the worry he felt. Gwen handed him the cloth and he tried to put it on Merlin's face, but Merlin's frantic movements kept knocking it off.

"Like what?" asked Arthur.

"He can't make up his mind, but…"

Merlin jerked a little, managing to put his hands underneath him and push away from the patient bed. "I have to go, 'cause it's my fault; Arthur _needs_ me."

"…But that is what he seems to be saying the most. He thinks you are in some kind of trouble some of the time, and then he thinks…" Gaius stopped himself, took a breath, and turned back to Merlin. "Shh, Merlin, Arthur will be fine; you just need to calm down and drink something."

Merlin closed his eyes tightly and shook his head, sounding almost normal as he cried, "Gaius, I have to go!"

Gaius turned exasperated eyes to Arthur. "Could _you_ try to convince him, Sire? He needs to get some liquid in him."

"Sure, Gaius," agreed Arthur, and Gwen stepped away so that he could come right up to the injured boy. "Merlin, can you hear me? Listen to me." Merlin didn't respond, but he suddenly went very still, waiting. He let himself be lowered back down again, momentarily calm.

"Arthur?" His voice was thin and cracked.

"Merlin, it's me. I'm okay, but I need you to drink something… You need to calm down, okay?" He reached out (as did Gaius, holding a brown cup filled with water) and took Merlin by his perspiration-slicked shoulder.

Merlin's body went rigid in panic, and he pulled away immediately, turning himself all the way onto his back in his alarm. His wound hit the wood, and he cried out in pain, briefly closing his fever-bright eyes.

Gwen rushed forward to help Gaius turn Merlin back over, her eyes wide. As Arthur yanked his arm away for what felt like the millionth time, he cursed instinctively, then met Gwen's shocked eyes and apologized profusely.

Merlin didn't resist as they turned him onto his front again, but he began to speak again, almost incoherently. "Arthur, _why_?" His voice was almost a sob, and his breath had a curious hitch to it. "Why… did you do…this? I- I…" He turned his face to the side, closing his eyes. "I don't understand…" He was _quivering_ – again!

Gwen turned to Arthur, whose eyes looked a little wet. His jaw was clenched. "He just keeps doing that!" Arthur howled, then got himself back under control. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

Gwen didn't know whether he meant cursing, putting his hand on Merlin, yelling, or a combination of the three, but she patted his shoulder comfortingly. "It's alright, Arthur. See, he's listening to you."

Arthur looked up and saw Merlin obediently drinking water from the cup that Gaius held to his lips. But he wasn't interested in that. What caught the prince's attention instead were the tears that slid out of his still closed eyes and down his white face.

"Let me guess," he said. "That's what he says the other part of the time?"

Gaius nodded reluctantly.

Arthur turned away, crossing his arms over his chest, and he bit back another curse. This had to end. _Soon._


	10. 9: Of Squires, Armies, and Distraction

**Chapter Nine**

Morgause peered out over the green field, tapping her foot impatiently. Cenred said tomorrow. He had said that this morning, and the light of day was beginning to fade. Meaning that she should spot his army any hour now.

_He'd better not have let me down. _She was only willing to flirt so much to get what she wanted. If he continued to be such a… _man_, then she just might have to be more forceful. And she would hate that. It caused unneeded friction.

Besides, he wouldn't dare let her down.

_I'll just walk a little farther away from Camelot. Surely I will see the men then… _For a moment she hesitated, though. What if Morgana needed her help?

She shook her head. _It's just a few hours. What can happen? _

And she began to walk towards the woods where her horse was, the moonlight shimmering on her blond hair.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Squire Hector let out a word that his mother would've boxed his ears for had she heard it. Luckily she didn't.

Unluckily, the reason for that was that he'd gotten lost. Lost. When he was barely a mile from Camelot. He'd finally realized where he was recently, and knew his way back…

Now that he was halfway to Cenred's kingdom.

"It's really all your fault," he told his horse, Havoc, quite grumpily. "You just had to be from a trader outside of Camelot, eh? Even if you did know your way home it would do me no good. Sir Bors will be worried… And when I get back he'll laugh and then beat me, not necessarily in that order."

The horse, a strong, fast brown one, seemed rather unconcerned with whether or not he was to suffer his master's wrath. Another reason Hector wasn't fond of horses; they had no sympathy.

"Ah, well," sighed the blond squire. "We're almost to the road. We'll be home in no time, and then you can rest in your nice stable with plenty of food… you fat thing, you. I'll be lucky if I can ever rest again."

Hector rubbed its neck, his actions showing the affection that his words didn't, and continued to trot forward. Luckily he'd been here before, on a hunting trip with Sir Bors, so he knew that once he got to the road it would be simple enough to get to Camelot.

There was a moment or two of silence, which made Hector inexplicably uncomfortable. _Strange, _he thought to himself. Usually he didn't mind quiet… As a matter of fact, growing up with four younger, rambunctious siblings had taught him to embrace the peace while he could, and even crave it.

But all the same, there was something a little wrong about a silent wood. Especially at night, when it was supposed to be filled with noises.

Actually, he realized with a little shiver, it was a lot wrong. Where were the animals? Where were the chirpings and rustlings and even that sound that he never could place, but was so undeniably_ animal_?

He looked down at Havoc. "What is going on here? Keep your eyes open, boy, and I will too."

In the next few moments, they stepped out of the wood. And that was the exact moment when Hector remembered one thing that could cause a wood to go quiet and cautious: a fast approaching army.

_Yeah, that would do it,_ he thought, going completely pale. He was on a small incline, overlooking a field that was covered in men.

Okay, so at second look it was not a complete army. It was about a couple of hundred men, though, and that was enough to cause significant damage to Camelot if there was no warning.

Hector didn't doubt they were headed for Camelot. They were King Cenred's men; that was obvious from the colors they wore. And so, he would have to make sure that Camelot got that warning.

"Alright, Havoc," he said, mostly to himself, "here's what we are gonna do. We're gonna back up slowly until there is no way that they can spot us. Then you're going to run faster than you've ever done until we get back to Camelot. Then I am going straight to Sir Bors. Camelot must be protected. Ready?"

And they began to back up slowly.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Arthur rubbed his eyes, moaning in discomfort. He'd fallen asleep in a chair in the physician's quarters, dropping off in the back of the room while Gwen watched him and Merlin by turns, and Gaius occasionally stepped in to give Merlin some water, wipe his face with a wet cloth, or hold him down when he tried to stand.

Arthur hated when he tried to get up. It was rather pathetic, as the man's legs never moved, just slid uselessly against the wood. The prince didn't like seeing his manservant so helpless and hurt. This wasn't Merlin; it wasn't right. Merlin wasn't a sick invalid who kept crying out for no reason, who had wild eyes and mussed hair.

Merlin was a cheeky, grinning young man who knew more than he let on and put knights to shame with his sheer loyalty. The loyalty that often caused him to enter a fray with no armor, to seek cures and antidotes even when his own life was in danger, to run in a room screaming, "I'm the sorcerer!" to save a friend's life. It was something Arthur didn't deserve or appreciate, but he got it nonetheless. That was Merlin.

Arthur wanted him back. But he knew that, even if Merlin healed, he might never forgive Arthur. He might pack up and leave for Ealdor the minute he was able… That is, if he ever was able. And if he did, Arthur wouldn't blame him in the least.

To these thoughts Arthur had fallen asleep, and not surprisingly had some terrible dreams. Now he was waking up as morning light slanted through the window. Gaius stood over him, his own eyes tired and baggy.

"Wha'time's it?" mumbled the prince, sitting up and looking around, which made him groan. His back hurt. _Well, I'm going to shine in training today,_ thought Arthur sarcastically. "Where's Guinevere?"

"I tried to send her home a little before morning, but she wanted to stay, so she fell asleep in Merlin's room." He shrugged. Merlin didn't have much use for it at the moment. "I woke you up so you wouldn't be late for training, Sire."

Arthur nodded sleepily and stood. "You're right, Gaius. I'd better get ready… How's Merlin this morning?"

Gaius's gaze flickered over to the manservant. "Sleeping. He has fever still, but it's going down."

"That's good, then. You will inform me at once if anything changes?"

Gaius nodded, patting the anxious prince on the shoulder. "Yes, Sire. You'd best go."

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"Sir Bors," Arthur called out a greeting. "Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

"I should," agreed Bors. "My squire disappeared, so I figured that I'd best look around for him before I asked that servant's help… He's not much use, you know."

"The servant or the squire?" This was Arthur's attempt at being jovial. It was almost painful.

"The servant. Hector is very useful… When he's not playing hide and seek, apparently," Bors grumbled, but smiled.

Arthur nodded. "I'm going to get ready myself."

Bors looked him up at down. Perhaps he was wondering why the prince, who obviously just woke up, was going towards his room instead of out of it. Or perhaps he knew.

"How's your servant, Sire?"

Arthur tried to appreciate the question. It was nice of Bors to even remember his servant. Still, it was something that Arthur didn't want to answer. He didn't want to talk about Merlin with Bors, who doubtless wouldn't understand how worried he was for his friend. Forcing himself to be polite, Arthur said, "I'm not exactly sure. He's very ill."

"I'm sorry." And he looked sorry, bowing his head so that Arthur could see the brown of his hair.

"Thank you for asking." Arthur wanted to escape now. Maybe if he just said that he had to go prepare?

"Well, I thought perhaps something had happened last night, because Ashby said you left your rooms."

"Ashby?"

"He's a guard."

Arthur thought back. Oh. The guard who tried to stop Gwen from waking him up last night. How did Sir Bors know about that? Come to think of it, what had that guard been doing near his door? He opened his mouth to ask, but Bors unintentionally cut him off.

"I thought I should send him to ask if you needed anything last night, but he said you'd already retired when you were woken up, so we just thought it was probably something important."

Arthur had to smile. He'd completely forgotten about that guard. He had to respect Bors's tact, really. '_We_ just thought it was probably something important,' he'd said, but Arthur didn't imagine that was what Ashby had thought. When your half-clothed prince drags a pretty servant girl into his room in the middle of the night, 'must be something important' really isn't your first assumption. _I hope Sir Bors set him straight. I'd hate for Guinevere to be getting questions about that. _But it was a little funny, all the same. Arthur's sense of propriety must have completely flown out the window last night.

"Thank you, Sir Bors. I appreciate your concern; Merlin woke up last night but he's asleep again."

"I hope he improves." Had Arthur been looking at those blue eyes, he would've seen that the words were the truth. But the prince was not.

With a nod, Arthur left Sir Bors standing there and looking after him.

_He didn't even remember seeing Ashby, _thought Bors. _He's not paying attention. It's amazing he even remembered training today. I know he's worried about Merlin, but a distracted prince never bodes well for his people. The manservant had better get well soon before something happens. _Not being very old himself, Sir Bors could understand Arthur's distraction. But not being very young either, he could also understand Arthur's duties and why they should come first. _He's only human, _said a compassionate voice in his head. _So the rest of us knights had better be twice as alert to make up for him until… Until things get better. _

Bors was sure things would get better. They always did.

Just then Bors heard a voice behind him, puffing out his name. "Sir…" gasp, "Bors! Sir Bors, sir!"

Bors turned around and saw his squire at long last, running towards him. The boy's face was red, his eyes bulged, and his blond hair stuck to his face with perspiration.

"Hector," he scolded. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you and you are late getting me ready. I know I gave you permission to go for a ride yesterday, but that doesn't give you the right to be gone a whole day."

Hector didn't look concerned. He shook his head, still struggling to breathe from his wild ride and his run through Camelot, and wheezed, "Sir Bors, it's important! It's… it's bad… army… we need to…" He skidded to a stop by the knight and bent double, hands on his knees. "They're… coming…"

The knight's forehead creased. "What? What are you talking about? Breathe, Hector, and _then _tell me what's going on."

Nodding and heaving in deep breaths of air, Squire Hector did.


	11. 10: Of Apologies and Sleep

**Chapter Ten**

"Arthur!"

Arthur nearly groaned. That had to be the third or fourth time within the past two days that someone had called his name in that tone of alarm. It nearly gave him a heart attack every time.

He turned around, rubbing at his eyes. "Yes, Guinevere?"

She'd obviously run all the way from the physician's rooms, and was breathing just a little heavier than usual. Her brown eyes were huge. "It's Merlin! We… we think the fever's breaking! He woke up, and… he asked for you!"

That was all it took to get Arthur running, following Gwen as she led him down the shorter route.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Prince Arthur was not in his room. He was not on the training field. He'd disappeared. A small rumbling of panic appeared in Sir Bors's stomach, and he cursed.

Squire Hector, who had been instructed to put up Havoc (and who did so, grumbling that there were enemies coming on fast and still he had to take care of that selfish horse), met him as he reached the field.

"Prince Arthur?" he asked.

Bors shook his head. "Can't find him." Could the Prince have wandered off? This was that servant's fault… Which meant that, technically, it was Arthur's fault, as Arthur was at fault for the servant… Bors shook his head, trying to stop this circular thinking.

"Then we have to go to King Uther at once."

Sir Bors nodded. Normally, this sort of thing would go to the King first, but the Prince was in charge of the knights, and on such short notice, Bors thought he should be informed—especially as he had been nearby.

But apparently he wasn't as close as the bearded knight had thought, and so it was time to take this nearest fiasco to the king.

_God save the King, _he thought grimly. _And while you're at it, God, save the rest of us too. _

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Morgana pushed her dark hair over her shoulder, smirking at the wall.

This time the plan was going to work. Morgause had just alerted her that all was going as they wanted it to, and now was the time to follow through with her own part… Get Arthur. Then, deliver Arthur to Morgause. Her sister informed Morgana _explicitly_ that she was not to let Arthur know or even guess about her new loyalties, in case something went wrong and Arthur escaped.

But nothing would go wrong. This time, the plan would work.

Morgana wasn't really quite clear on what the plan was after that, but she strongly suspected it involved brute force cleverly interwoven with magic. Then they would simply fight their way through the distracted knights and kill Uther.

That last part was Morgana's favorite, so she reflected on it a little more as she pushed open the door to her chambers, striding confidently down the hall. She was pretty sure that they wouldn't just kill him straight out, and she knew they were going to have to be creative with it. Perhaps they could show him that his son was dead. But would Arthur be dead? Morgana was fairly certain that they would have to kill him eventually… After all, what good was conquering the city and killing the king if the heir to the throne was still alive? She just wasn't sure _when_ they would kill him exactly. Before or after Uther? Would it be a big affair?

Her green eyes flashed with her delicious thoughts as she walked towards Gaius's chambers, but she couldn't help wondering if she was forgetting a part of the plan. What could it be?

Ah, yes. The part where magic came back to the kingdom. Right. Also, the part where she got to kill Merlin herself.

…This wasn't part of the official plan, actually, but she really thought it was only fair. After all, Merlin was the one who betrayed her, the one who hurt her and changed her heart. The one who killed her... in a manner of speaking.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"Merlin," chided Gaius, "shouldn't you be working on getting better?"

Merlin regarded him hazily and tried to grin, but it was just movement. He honestly had no idea what Gaius was suggesting… He could only just barely hold onto consciousness, and even that was only achieved by hanging onto one thought… _He had to see Arthur._

"_Please_ lay down; you can't walk," begged the worried physician, pushing Merlin's shoulders down as the warlock attempted once more to get up.

Merlin blinked at him, waking a little more. Ridiculous. Of course he could walk; he'd been walking since he was an infant! He couldn't feel his feet now, but that was surely just because they were asleep… He'd been lying down so long. What was _wrong_ with Gaius?

Gaius gave the warlock a look of complete desperation, but it was lost on Merlin. His fever was going down rapidly, but he was still too out of it to understand what was going on around him. He just wanted to talk to Arthur, and of course Gwen had gone for the prince at once, but Gaius wished they could have waited. He worried about the stab wound, which could still be deadly, as well as Merlin's legs. Both were problems that could be solved with – and Gaius looked around before even _thinking_ the word – magic, but Merlin had proven time and time again that he was not adept at healing spells, and so the sooner he took care of his injuries, the more likely it was that he would actually be able to heal himself. If the prince was here, Merlin couldn't use his magic.

That boy really _didn't_ have any self-preservation skills, did he? Gaius bit back a groan of frustration.

"_Merlin,_" he moaned.

The door flew open and Gwen rushed in, Arthur at her heels. The prince looked elated but nervous, and Gwen's face was creased in concern.

Gwen stepped to the side, watching, knowing that Arthur was the one Merlin wanted to talk to. Arthur looked over at Merlin and saw him on the patient table, still trying to sit up, leaning on Gaius's arm. The warlock's face was red with exertion or fever. His motionless legs were only hidden by his trousers, and their stillness was a painful reminder of his injury.

Merlin's eyes flickered over to Arthur's face, but for a moment there was no sign of recognition.

With the air of someone stepping on thin ice, not knowing if he would make it or crack and fall in, Arthur asked, "Merlin?"

And then Merlin really saw him, and understood who he was. He froze.

His blue eyes went dark with anger, and his eyebrows drew together. Arthur knew that the ice had broken under his weight, and he was now submerged in freezing water. The whole room seemed colder, somehow, and even Gaius and Gwen could feel it.

Gwen bailed. "I'll get more water, Gaius, for Merlin."

Arthur shot her a pleading look, but she pretended not to notice. This was none of her business, she reasoned as Gaius nodded in understanding at her, and she made her escape. Head down, the serving girl fled the room.

A sick feeling bubbling up inside of him, Arthur watched her go. When the door slammed shut behind her, and he had nothing to look at, he jerked his head around to stare at Gaius instead. Gaius wouldn't abandon him.

Merlin's gaze never moved; he continued to glare at Arthur. "Gaius," said the manservant slowly, his voice more calm, more reasonable. "Can you go?"

Merlin couldn't even recognize all the emotions that were built up inside of him. Anger was at the forefront, making him feel like he was ready to explode. Behind his fury was hurt, a whole ocean full of hurt and pain. And there was fear. He was scared of Arthur, and Morgana, of the world, of being _awake._ Also, though he hated to admit it, a bit of relief hid in there somewhere—for he had not been able to get the thought he'd had while unconscious, that Morgana had Arthur, out of his mind.

Gaius studied Merlin for a moment. The look Arthur was giving him was quite clear. It could almost be considered disobeying a royal command to ignore such an expression, but Gaius couldn't help but think that Merlin deserved the chance to communicate with Arthur alone.

_Yelling is a form of communication, _thought Gaius.

"If you'll lay down, Merlin. You're still injured and you have a fever," warned the old man. Arthur let out a heavy, angry breath.

Merlin nodded reluctantly and leaned back down, lying on his side at a funny angle. He didn't want to let his bare, injured back touch the wood, but he didn't want to lie on his front like a baby who couldn't quite crawl. That would hardly be impressive. He winced as his shoulder touched the hard wood.

Arthur winced too, in sympathy and guilt. This was, after all, _his_ fault.

"Don't move," ordered Gaius, and Merlin assured him that he would be as a statue.

Then, not looking at the prince, the old man left the two younger ones alone to communicate.

Arthur had never before been afraid of his own manservant. The man was about half his size, so that would be a bit ridiculous. But now he was scared; his hands shook and his face kept trying to twitch. He felt as if _everything_ rested on how Merlin reacted. Everything.

Arthur forced himself to meet Merlin's eyes, even though he would rather not have. The manservant was still glaring at him, but didn't speak. The prince had to speak first.

"I…" Arthur trailed off, at a loss for anything to say. Sorry would be nice, he supposed, but probably useless. "I hear you're feeling better."

"I can talk now, can't I?" Merlin's voice was as cold as the water that Arthur was currently drowning in.

Arthur nearly let slip, _"That's not really improvement then, is it?"_ but caught himself in time. Merlin didn't want to joke, and the prince didn't blame him. "Soon," said Arthur, knowing how stupid he sounded, "you'll be completely healed."

"It'll be a relief not to just lie here half-naked all day," agreed Merlin, but without his customary smile.

"It's a little cold," Arthur said with a nod. "Do you want me to grab a blanket for you…?"

"No, I don't think you want to come near me." His hand curled into a fist, making his point painfully clear.

Arthur felt like he'd been slapped in the face. His manservant had just threatened him; he was sure of it. Usually the thought would be quite laughable, but Merlin meant it. Arthur could see it in his eyes, which were still plastered to Arthur's face.

"I'm sorry." Did he just apologize for being threatened? Arthur gave himself a mental shake.

And the conversation ground to an uncomfortable halt for Arthur. Merlin continued to study him, while the prince finally gave up and looked at the ground.

"You hurt me," said Merlin, his voice low and a little hoarse, as though he was forcing the words out past an obstruction in his throat. "You could've _killed_ me." It was a fact, but also an accusation. "How could you be so..." What was the word he wanted? "..._stupid?_" That was not it. But Merlin couldn't think of a better one.

Arthur's shoulders seemed to droop. "I know. I... I'm stupid, I guess."

There was another moment where no one said anything.

"I know you're dying to explain yourself."

Arthur looked up. Usually such anger in anyone's voice would make him defensive, but he couldn't deny that no matter what Merlin said, he deserved it. He had to use the tactic he did on his father, and that was to be calm and truthful, and not to lose his temper.

"I don't think I can tell you something you don't already know," said Arthur sadly. "It was an accident. I didn't know it was broken."

Merlin was silent, but his lips thinned.

Arthur opened his mouth, ready to admit that if Merlin had died, he never would've forgiven himself for throwing that goblet, but suddenly Arthur realized that there was no guarantee that Merlin would live. It was bad luck to count your chickens before they hatched. "And I'm sorry," finished the prince, his face burning.

Merlin's thoughts flickered back to that night… Was it only the day before yesterday_? He remembered how sleepy he was… How the goblet shattered on the ground; Arthur's fist connecting with his face…_Unthinkingly, he raised his hand to cover his nose.

"I'm sorry for that too, Merlin," added Arthur.

Merlin finally looked away. And yawned.

He hadn't said anything, but the yawn seemed enough. The yawn seemed to say what Arthur had dreaded—that Merlin could never forgive him for what he'd done. It was as though that thin ice was freezing back, over his head, leaving him to drown. The prince hadn't been so close to crying in years.

Merlin, meanwhile, was wrestling with himself.

_It's partly my fault too… That stupid goblet. Arthur didn't know; he didn't mean to do anything that could kill me!_

_But, _whined a voice in his mind, an injured, childlike voice, _he _hurt_ me. He hurt me, and he let Morgana… _He shuddered at the memory of all that pain ripping through his body, like some poisoned knife. _Morgana hurt me too. _

_No, he didn't know about Morgana, he wouldn't have let her if he had known…_

Somehow, he thought it was Arthur's responsibility to know. Merlin protected the prince enough. And what did it get him? A bleeding back. Didn't the manservant deserve even the least bit of shielding from his master? That thought burned into Merlin's brain. Now Arthur wanted forgiveness.

Merlin never wanted to see him again.

But no, that wasn't true. Arthur was his best friend. Arthur would never purposely hurt Merlin, and the warlock knew it. And he should forgive what was accidental. But Arthur's sheer stupidity, his inability to see Morgana for what she was, was harder to forgive.

It was ironic that it would be hardest to forgive what was not even Arthur's fault, but it wasn't so far-fetched. Not when Merlin remembered how he'd twisted in the sheets, wishing there was some escape, praying someone would stop her but knowing that he was at her mercy… or lack thereof.

It was just so hard to think when he was so tired…

Merlin looked up again. It had only been a few seconds since Arthur's apology, and it still hung in the air between them, waiting for his rejection.

Only, Merlin knew that if he gave that simple 'no', it would crush Arthur. The warlock was hurting, and he was weak, but somehow he had no wish to have Arthur suffer too. He didn't want to hurt the prince.

"I… can forgive you," said Merlin slowly. "And…"

Arthur looked at him, eyes full of hope, and somehow that was all Merlin needed.

"And I will. I... I guess I do." The vast majority of the anger in him dissolved almost immediately, taking most of the hurt with it. He felt better.

Arthur looked grateful, but Merlin just fought back another yawn as his eyes began to droop. What was wrong with him? A minute ago he'd been wide awake!

Arthur let out the breath he'd been holding, knowing that, suddenly, a thin, bony arm had been thrust through that thin layer of ice and latched onto him, pulling him back up into the warmer air. "Thank you, Merlin." His voice was soft, and his words heartfelt.

Merlin nodded, his head then falling back exhaustedly onto the bed. He couldn't hold it up.

Arthur noticed, naturally. "Do you want to sleep?"

Merlin shook his head lazily. "No… I've been sleeping for a day, and I'm not really that…" – yawn – "tired."

Arthur wasn't convinced, especially since at that moment he fell asleep. He gasped suddenly, as though hit by a sudden wave of pain or a sharp realization, and his eyes seemed to glimmer. A word nearly forced its way out of his throat, and he looked shocked, struggling to sit up.

Then his head fell back with a_ thunk_, and his eyes snapped shut. He was out, his mouth still open with the words he never said.

Just then the door creaked open, and Arthur hoped it was Gwen returning. But no… It was Morgana.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Morgana had been nearly to the physician's chambers when she heard the voices. Gwen and Gaius had left, she remembered, and wondered who else could be speaking with Arthur.

"_And I'm sorry,"_ the prince was saying.

Morgana stopped in the hall and stared at the door, quite perplexed. Who was he talking to? Surely not Merlin, because he should still be asleep.

"_I'm sorry for that too, Merlin."_

Morgana gasped, her eyes flashing in fury. The meddling servant was awake! And Arthur was talking to him? That was not good for her, because if they managed to make up… then Arthur would be much less distracted, and they needed him distracted! She had to stop them from talking. She had to keep that backstabber out for the count!

Now how did that sleeping spell that Morgause had taught her go?

"_Mynd i gysgu,"_ she whispered after glancing around, her green eyes going gold. She felt a prick, the essence of Merlin's consciousness brushing up with her spell.

It didn't take. She cursed and tried again. _"Mynd i gysgu!"_ She knew that the enchantment was trying to find a crack in Merlin's brain, a place where it could slip in and take control. But the servant didn't fall asleep.

She repeated the spell for several seconds, and felt nothing, while inside Merlin was forgiving Arthur. _Forgiveness. _Bah.

Arthur thanked him. She repeated the spell, a feeling of panic beginning to take root in her.

"_Mynd i gysgu!" _she whispered frantically_. "Mynd-i-gysgu; Mynd i gysgu! Mynd! I! Gysgu!" _She looked stupid but she didn't care.

Inside, Arthur asked, _"Do you want to sleep?"_

And she felt the spell connect with Merlin's mind. He fought it, and she could feel him blinking as he tried not to slip under her spell, but it was too late. She'd gotten him again.

Merlin's brain, quickly being taken over by sleep, briefly surged to awareness with horror and realization, and then he was gone. Sleeping like a rock.

Morgana forced the triumphant smile from her face and pushed open the door, aware that they were in a hurry now. It was only a matter of time before Cenred's men were spotted and the whole of Camelot on alert.

"Arthur!" she gasped, running in.

Arthur looked surprised to see her. "Morgana, what's wrong? You look as though you've seen a ghost!"

She was close to tears. "Arthur, you have to see this; you have to come!"

His expression changed to one of alarm. "What is it?"

"Just… come, Arthur, please come now!"

Arthur cast his sleeping manservant a look. "I shouldn't leave him alone, though."

She was nearly screeching now. Arthur could be so hard-headed. "_Please,_ Arthur, it _must_ be now!"

He didn't deliberate another second. The woman who was like his sister needed him, and so he had to go. Besides, Gaius would be back soon.

He nodded and followed her swiftly as she ran from the room.

And they were outside of the gates by the time the bells rang.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Just before he fell into slumber, Merlin recognized an unnatural, tainted feeling that lingered over him.

_Magic. Working on me. _

He was being put to sleep!

And he'd remember Morgana's touch until the day he died, with its twisted and bittersweet feel, not entirely unpleasant. Like eating forbidden fruit wasn't entirely unpleasantly. Like the thrill of danger wasn't entirely unpleasant.

It terrified him, and he knew with certainty that he could not stand to be under her power again.

In the moment before his world went completely dark, he fought back. Panic fueling him, a spell popped into his head, one he'd made up on the spot. He couldn't say it out loud; there was no time. But he pushed against Morgana's magic with all of his might, with all the fear in his wounded body.

_Dim! _

And then his body capitulated, and Morgana won this small battle. With that single word still echoing in his brain, he slipped into sleep, his mind kicking and screaming in protest.

_Dim! Dim! _


	12. 11: Of Struggling

**Chapter Eleven**

Arthur thought that Gaius and Gwen would be back soon. But they were detained; Gwen got caught up in the panic that ensued when everyone realized a battle was approaching. She was dragged along with the current, setting up the Great Hall to be a hospital again, blocking off parts of the city, distributing weapons to the guards. Though she wondered why Arthur hadn't shown up yet, it never occurred to her that Merlin would be all alone. Gaius, meanwhile, was called to take care of a man who'd had a bit of a mishap (but Gaius was fairly certain his rib would be fine soon and he could go back to fixing his roof). Once he finished there, the talk of the oncoming fight reached his ears, and he had to join in the preparations, making his way towards the castle to be at Uther's side. He thought of Merlin, of course, but nothing could be done at the moment. Lives depended on the speed with which they prepared for what could be all-out war.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

_Dim!_

_Mynd i gysgu! _

His mind swirled. He was asleep, but still thinking. He felt as though Morgana was physically there, pushing his head under water, keeping him from surfacing. He was back into that lake in his mind, the one with the shimmering half-awareness and the deeper, darker sleep.

It was as though he was blind and paralyzed, only able to hear what was going on, but not react. He heard Morgana convince Arthur to come with her, and the thought sent waves of panic through him, nearly bringing him back to consciousness. But just as he thought that he would wake, her spell came back, stronger than ever, pushing him under the water.

It was as though he was drowning.

The darkness began to swirl into a vortex, various shades of browns and grays all blending to form one giant black hole. Actually, he thought dizzily, sleep sounded really good right now… Really good. He should probably just… drift off through this black sea…

_Dim!_

No! No, he had to wake up! Who knew what Morgana was planning to do with Arthur this time? He had to fight the spell.

But then he felt her words leaking back into his brain. Such pretty words, beautiful. She was beautiful too; beautiful and dangerous.

_Mynd i gysgu…_

They were like a soft touch, a gentle whisper as though someone stroked his hair back, urging him to go back to sleep. He felt his body begin to relax.

And then he remembered Arthur.

_Dim!_ Like a slap to the face. He tried to push against her magic, to fight her. He pushed every particle of determination in his body into that one word.

But he was so weak, partly thanks to her. He should sleep. _She won't hurt me if I do what she wants me to. It's so much more peaceful…_

But she would hurt Arthur. She'd hurt all of Camelot… Who knew what she was planning this time? He had to stop her.

He wanted to sink like a stone into calm dreams, to float away, to sleep.

He needed to get up. _Dim! Effro! _

He needed to save Arthur. _Effro!_

He needed to help, to fulfill that stupid, stupid destiny that just refused to leave him in peace.

_Dim! Effro!_

_EFFRO!_

Her spell still tickled at him, holding him back, but barely. He was winning. His slap to the face could overcome her wicked, seductive caress.

_Mynd i gysgu…_The spell tried one last time, a final murmur in the dark, one more sensation of delicate, wispy fingers running through his raven hair, sliding lazily down his face…

Then it left him to float back to the surface of the water alone. An odd feeling came with the spell's absence. It was such a relief to have it go, to have nothing stopping him from waking, but at the same time, he missed it. He yearned for that soft whisper, that drowsy feeling of having nothing at all that he needed to do; he longed for it until his insides ached with its loss.

But it was better with it gone.

He had responsibilities that he couldn't shirk.

And with that thought, his golden eyes snapped open, alive with magic, bringing him to the surface and back onto the bed in the middle of the physician's chambers.


	13. 12: Of Healing Spells and Fights

**Chapter Twelve**

"Morgana, wait!" Arthur called, stopping to look back at the gates of Camelot. "The bells!"

She spun around, her guileless green eyes wide with fear as she glanced around the woods. "I hear them!"

"Does this have something to do with…?"

Obviously distraught, she responded, "I don't know!" She turned and ran again, black locks flying out behind her, Arthur close at her heels.

"Morgana!"

Arthur glared at the back of the girl he grew up with. There were alarm bells ringing in Camelot, and even then she wouldn't stop. On the way out of Camelot, she had nearly thrown a fit when he insisted on grabbing his sword, and refused to allow him the time to put on any chain mail. Never mind that she could be taking him somewhere dangerous.

_Usually, _grumbled Arthur in his head, _I wouldn't rush into things like this… _But it was impossible for him to ignore the panic in the Lady Morgana's eyes. Still, Arthur knew that the only time one wasn't properly prepared for danger could be the last time one prepared for danger at all. He prayed that he wouldn't have to learn this lesson today.

His eyes flickered to his sword, and he put one hand on it, making sure it was still there. He didn't know what had Morgana so scared, but it couldn't be good—Morgana was not a cowardly woman, nor an easily unnerved one. Arthur had seen her prepared to face down many armed men with what may or may not have been a ladle. So she must have seen a real threat.

Arthur, still following Morgana, ran into a small clearing, only about three meters in width and length. Hearing a noise in the foliage off to the side, Arthur stopped in his tracks. He drew his sword, set his feet apart, and looked around warily. Nothing moved. There was complete silence in the woods; not even the birds sang, which was always a bad sign.

"Morgana!" he hissed, putting a warning in his voice. But there was no response, and when he looked to the side, he realized that she had run so far ahead that she was out of sight. Grimacing, he silently hoped she wouldn't turn back and run into him, especially if there was something hiding out in those woods.

A half-hour seemed to fit into the next few seconds, but nothing moved in the forest. Nothing attacked, and Arthur felt himself begin to instinctively relax.

Eventually, he brought his sword back to his side from the defensive position, looking around again for Morgana. Where had the girl gone? After a moment, a spark of worry appeared behind his eyes as the awful thought occurred to him—What if whatever or whoever had made that rustling sound hadn't attacked Arthur because it had gone after Morgana?

"Morgana," he called loudly, hopefully, brow creasing with concern.

"Oh," said a snide female voice from behind. "I wouldn't worry about her. No doubt she'll be on her way back to Camelot soon. Once she discovers you are gone."

Hand leaping to his side and gripping that shiny sword that never let him down, Arthur spun around to face this new threat. But for once his knightly skills were not enough; a powerful blast of some shiny yellow light knocked the blade from his grip and him to the ground. He grunted in pain and shock, catching himself with his hands, his head snapping back painfully.

A chuckle resonated throughout the small clearing.

Trying his best not to moan and thinking that he really should've stopped for some armor, Arthur pushed himself up by his elbows and looked at the blonde woman who stood over him, arm outstretched to cast another spell.

Recognizing Morgause, he leapt lightly to his feet and went for his sword again, but with a flick of her wrist and a small incantation, it scooted out of his reach. He went for it one more time, diving on the forest floor in his attempt to grab it. He got much the same result.

"Not fair, Prince Arthur," she said, mock-pleasantly. Her lips curled into a smile. "I'm not armed."

He shot her a glare but said nothing, just went for his sword again.

Morgause rolled her eyes, tired of watching the prince leap about like an excited puppy, and sent him crashing into a nearby tree with a wave of her hand. Arthur flew through the air, scraping his back when he landed up against the hard bark of the tree, and then fell unceremoniously to the ground. His head cracked against a root sticking out of the ground, and he cried out involuntarily.

Morgause smiled.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"Can we win?"

Sir Bors looked down at his worried squire, who was trying to appear brave and stoic. His hazel eyes gave him away though; besides that, he was practically shaking. Bors looked back at the commotion that had taken over the streets of Camelot as everyone rushed to close the gates and guard the walls.

"Undoubtedly," said the knight. "We outnumber them, from what you said."

"That's what scares me. Cenred's smart; why would he attack us with less men than we have? You know he consorts with sorcerers sometimes… Maybe…"

Bors nodded grimly. "I know. And we don't have any magic on our side."

These words made Hector glance around nervously. He was used to Bors speaking so dryly and matter-of-factly, but naturally anyone else would get suspicious if they heard him talk about magic in such a way. Resisting the urge to shush his master, Hector asked, "So, what if there is more than meets the eye?"

Bors shrugged and patted his squire on the shoulder in a fatherly way. "There always is. Just try your best."

Hector wasn't reassured. "Are you assigned to protecting the gate again?"

Bors smiled. "Yes. And your job—"

"—Is to do whatever I'm told to do," said Hector blandly, then winced and added, "Sir."

Bors sent him away then. The squire went rushing off to see who he could help (commenting as he did that it was better to help the Devil Himself than to have to take care of That Horse), and the knight went back to watching the preparations for the battle, which was steadily approaching.

And he couldn't help but wonder where Prince Arthur was.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Merlin was covered in sweat when he awoke, gasping for breath. His back throbbed with pain where it had been touching the wood. He tried to get up, knowing that Arthur needed rescuing…

He couldn't. His body felt like it should be getting up; he told it to, but his legs didn't move as he commanded.

Alarmed, Merlin tried again, but after several attempts it was obvious—His legs didn't work. Growling, Merlin decided that he _would_ get to Arthur, even if he had to slither on his belly.

Next he tried to rock himself to the side, so that he would twist and fall to the ground. This didn't work. The moment he changed the position of his back, such agony ripped through him that he couldn't breathe, much less get to the ground. Gasping and trying to blink back the tears in his eyes, Merlin gingerly lowered himself back onto the bed.

Okay. Okay, he couldn't move. He was exhausted. His legs were paralyzed (which was a very disturbing thing to discover; no wonder they didn't hurt), and if he tried to twitch his upper body it felt like Morgana was at him again. But he was determined. He had to save Arthur.

Somehow.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Morgana aimed her satisfied smile at nothing in particular. She was on the outskirts of the woods, far from Morgause and Arthur, but not close enough to Camelot's walls to be spotted by those watching for an attack, as she was safely behind the trees.

It was slightly worrying that Camelot was expecting an attack so soon, but luckily they were too late to do anything about it. She and Morgause had Arthur, and that was what mattered.

Humming quietly, she settled herself down, ready to just sit there among the trees and grass until everything was over and she was able to go back to Camelot.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Healing spells were not Merlin's forte.

As a matter of fact, he was completely abysmal at performing them. They always, always failed… at least the first couple of times. And usually, by the time he felt like it might actually work, it was too late.

On top of that, it was dangerous to use them on himself. Assuming they actually worked, that was. If he could suddenly jump around after what seemed like weeks of lying unconscious, then Arthur would be suspicious, and he would be right to be. If his legs hadn't moved in days and suddenly they were good as new, people would certainly wonder.

But to heck with all of that; Camelot needed him again.

Merlin decided to focus on his back first, as that was the most painful. He wouldn't heal it fully, naturally, because not even Arthur could be thick enough to overlook that magic…

Closing his eyes and grimacing in concentration, Merlin muttered the magic words, _"Gwella fy nghefn."_

Nothing happened. _Naturally. It never works the first million times…_

"_Gwella fy nghefn."_

He thought maybe he felt something… A slight tingle… He moved a little too quickly and was immediately driven back down, gasping in pain.

Okay, it hadn't worked. _"GWELLA FY NGHEFN!" _He was practically shouting the words now, not really caring if someone walked in on him. But it failed again.

By now he was exhausted all over again, his eyes drooping and his head feeling heavy. But he couldn't stop. "Oh, come on!" he complained to the ceiling. "I thought I was this all-powerful warlock? Really?"

His head hit the wood with a _thunk_ and stung. It sounded like defeat to him.

_Arthur's right. I'm useless. I can't heal myself. Morgana won. _

_Morgana…_

A rage bubbled up inside of him, scaring him, as he was unfamiliar to feeling such anger. Morgana was the traitor who lied to everyone in Camelot, who hurt him, who hurt Arthur and Gwen and…

And he really didn't want her to win. With a deep breath, he tried to gather his strength back and said it one more time.

"_Gwella fy nghefn."_

This time, something happened. His wound seemed to burn and sizzle. It hurt, yes, but a good kind of hurt, one that was necessary if one wanted to heal. His eyes glowed gold as he concentrated on healing himself, just enough, just barely enough…

He called off the spell when most of the burning subsided, but when he could still feel the gaping hole in his back. The wound was suddenly a lot shallower, and the tenderness around it lessened.

Tentatively, he leaned forward, pushing himself into a pulling position, waiting for the crippling pain to hit him again.

It didn't, and he laughed with pure relief. He could do it! He could save Arthur.

_They say behind every great man there is a woman. A woman that he's trying to spite, apparently. _

He laughed again, throwing back his head, letting the sound burst forth ungracefully from him. It felt good.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Naturally, Arthur went for his sword again, trying not to retch from the explosive pain in his forehead. He'd only blacked out for a few seconds, but he was rather disoriented.

This time, Morgause let him grab his sword, still smiling. And she had reason to be, for two men with dark clothes and identical scowls had just crashed out of the woods behind her. Both were armed.

Arthur nearly moaned. Minions. Of course. He slipped into position, holding the sword in front of himself, ready to fight two at once. He heroically fought the urge to rub his head.

Morgause was talking now, gloating, possibly trying to divert his attention from the fight at hand. "I can see that the attack on Camelot is going to fail," she said harshly. "It's really too bad."

Attack? What attack? Did that have to do with the warning bells? Arthur shook off the thought and faced the men, who were slowly approaching, their own swords out.

"But," she added, "it doesn't really matter. So long as we have Prince Arthur Pendragon, right? It will be all too easy to get to Uther after that, don't you think?"

He thought that he'd like her to shut up, but he didn't have time to say so before her men leaped at him, and he was fighting for his life.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"_Gwella fy nghoesau."_

Merlin's head pounded from the exhaustion. He was using so much energy for nothing.

"_Gwella fy nghoesau."_

His eyes glowed only briefly before reverting to blue as he glared furiously at his legs.

"_Gwella fy nghoesau!"_

_Oh, no. Please… I can't be paralyzed…I can't move them!_

"_Gwella! Fy! Nghoesau!"_

His body nearly crumpled. He couldn't do this now. He needed to _rest._ Sweat stood out on his pale face as he bit his lip, heart fluttering with panic.

He glared up at the ceiling again, anywhere but away from his legs. "I need," he shouted, "to be healed! I have to help Arthur!"

The ceiling didn't seem to care.

"If I'm paralyzed," he growled, "then my destiny is going to be pretty drab." He took a breath, trying to calm his racing heart. It didn't work. "Okay," he said conversationally to the top of the room. "I'm going to try this one more time. It has to work. I know I'm not so great at this spell, but it's an emergency. So I don't know who all's up there, or if you care to help… But, well, this is your last chance."

He breathed in. He closed his eyes.

Inhaling deeply in between every word, Merlin slowly said the spell with all the force he could muster.

"_Gwella fy nghoesau."_

A loud cracking sound came from his two legs, followed by a throb, and then it was over. Merlin could feel his legs again.

He stared up in awe. He'd never underestimate Gauis's ceiling again!

Glad to have full use of his body back, he slung himself over the side of the bed and onto his feet… And immediately collapsed. It _hurt_. It really hurt. Taking a step was like having needles driven into his legs.

He moaned but forced himself to his feet again, biting the inside of his cheek against the ache. Stiffly, but swiftly, he made his way to the door, sweating and swearing.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"_What do you think you're doing?"_

The young woman seemed quite unfazed at being yelled at by a boy much younger than she.

"My husband!" she called in reply, looking around. "He's fighting… I had to find him…"

Hector stared at her in disbelief. "Blair, get back into hiding! Go back to your baby!"

There were tears in her eyes. "I can't; I have to…"

"_We are in the middle of a battle!" _hollered the distraught squire, taking long strides forward and grabbing the serving woman by the arm. "And you need to _get away_ from it!"

"Are we losing?"

He stopped, startled by her down-to-earth, resigned tone.

"They are proving… difficult to kill…But they haven't gotten through the gate yet," he told her.

"Magic," she said with a sigh, eyes downcast. Her blondish hair fell over her angular face as she bowed her head, making Hector feel guilty. But he had no time for sympathy now.

Just as he opened his mouth to tell her that she had to go, she gasped and looked up. "_Merlin_! It's Merlin! Merlin, wait!" Her eyes lit up as the man ran past… No, the last she heard of Merlin he was dying! How was it possible?

Hector spun around and saw the dark-haired servant hurrying past, limping with his face drawn up into a pained expression. His square jaw dropped.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

A few of them managed to get the gate open, and one or two had gotten through. Sir Leon had one of them engaged, and he was glaring at the man furiously. They exchanged a few strokes, but neither hit the other.

With a deft little twist of his sword, Sir Leon brought his blade up into the man's arm, grunting with effort as the sword dug into the fighter's arm…

Which wasn't sliced off. Sir Leon gawked as he ripped his sword away. It was covered in blood, but none was running down the warrior's arm, and the man didn't seem to feel the pain.

Too shocked to move, Sir Leon was caught unawares. With one blow, the enemy knocked his sword from his hand. Leon yelped and tried to keep his grip on his weapon, but he just ended up on his back, staring at the sky and the sneering warrior.

A blade whistled through the air, and Leon closed his eyes in horror, waiting for the pain. None came. Opening his eyes again, Sir Leon was just in time to see a blood-splattered corpse hit the ground next to him, minus a head.

Rolling away from the disgusting sight, Sir Leon stared up at Merlin, who was standing with his feet apart, gasping against the pain in his back, his legs, and his side.

"Merlin!" he said in surprise, leaping to his feet.

Merlin gave him a ghost of a goofy smile. "Try only going for the more vital parts… The heart or the head."

Then he handed Leon his sword back, and turned away, running for the gate before it was closed again. Leon stared after him for just a moment, wondering how in the world he suddenly owed his life to Prince Arthur's servant, but then he was engaged in another battle.

Over the din of fighting, Leon called out to his nearby knight, "Bors!"

Just a faint echo of a voice answered him. "What?"

"Only go for the head and heart!" And then Leon drove his blade through the chest of the next attacker. He promptly fell down dead.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Morgana sat and sat, quietly smiling to herself as she imagined all sorts of little daydreams, many of which were coming to pass as she waited. She leaned against a nice, thick tree, so lost in her own thoughts that it was no wonder she didn't hear the footsteps until it was too late.

The loud, rustling steps were what finally yanked her out of her reverie, sending her scrambling to her feet, eyes flickering to all sides, wondering what could be coming.

She never would've dreamed that Merlin would've stepped out of the trees and stood mere feet before her.

She gasped. "Merlin!"

He had been just as surprised to see her, especially without Arthur with her. But as soon as she said his name, he felt the shock drain away, replaced by a cold kind of fury, mixed in with a bit of terror. He was standing in front of the woman who betrayed and hurt them all.

She still hadn't recovered from her shock when she suddenly found herself pressed against her large tree, her breath hitching in her throat from the pressure of a hand closed firmly around it. A body was so close to hers that she could feel the heat, and it took her a while to understand that it was Merlin. One of her hands reached up and tried to close around his, instinctively trying to lessen the pressure on her throat.

"_Where's Arthur?" _His voice was cutting and cold, like a winter's wind.

She gasped, staring into angry blue eyes that were too close for comfort. "Merlin… get off…" His other hand closed around her arm when she tried to slap him. Her face was beginning to tingle and redden.

"Morgana, what did you do with him?" Merlin felt his fingers itching to close around her throat, but he resisted the urge. She gaped at him, but said nothing. Infuriated, his face contorted into an unfamiliar mask and he shook her violently. "Tell me!" he growled into her face.

She leaned back, green eyes wide, trying to get away. "Let go, I said! You can't do this; I'm the king's ward!" Her voice came out rough and forced, thanks to the hand cutting off some of her air supply.

He was unimpressed. His eyes flickered, and he took another step forward, though there didn't seem to be any room. His body was almost touching hers now as he again insisted in a cold voice, "Tell me where he is."

"No!" She was getting some of her nerve back, though it was very disconcerting to have the clumsy, bumbling manservant so close and so _dangerous_, with his warm breath in her face, making her sweat. She struggled, trying to escape his surprisingly strong arms.

His jaw was clenched together so tightly that it was surprising his teeth didn't crack, and fury brought blood to his cheeks. "Morgana," he warned, his voice still low, his nose mere centimeters from hers, "if you don't tell me, _I will kill you_." His hand tightened briefly around her neck. It was an empty threat, but Morgana couldn't know that.

"What, like you did before? Why don't you just poison me?" she asked haughtily.

He wasn't buying into the guilt this time. In the back of his mind, he was horrified – for heaven's sake, he had a woman by her neck! – but Arthur could be _dying_. These were desperate times. He didn't back up. "Where is he?"

There was a moment of silence while Morgana considered her position. Her free hand scrabbled uselessly on his, and she knew that she couldn't get away. Her mind was too blank with fear to think of any spells, and every time she looked into his blue eyes, filled with anger and pain, her nervousness increased. When she didn't answer, he pushed her body back a little more, and her face tingled more as his hand began to tighten again. She began to feel lightheaded.

_He could break my neck, _she realized. _Oh, gods, h__e could snap my neck!_

She didn't hesitate another second. "Fine," she practically croaked. The pressure lessened at once. "He's… He's with Morgause. That way." She pointed with her free hand.

Merlin dropped her, and she immediately fell to her knees, hand massaging her throat, gasping.

Merlin watched her for a second. Then he said, "Thank you."

He turned and ran in the direction she'd indicated, his magic already searching out for any feeling of Arthur or Morgause.

Morgana watched him go with narrowed eyes, one hand lingering on her neck. And she called,

_"I hope she kills you!"_

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"We're winning!" Hector laughed in relief as he watched the men of Camelot forcing back the attackers, cutting off heads and stabbing chests. They _were_ winning, too.

Hector was near the stables now, a relatively safe place while he tightly gripped a sword (he'd taken it from one of the dead enemies) and waited for his next order.

He banged on the stable wall, unable to control himself, and he shouted, "You hear that, you stupid horse? You hear? We're winning, Havoc! Winning!"

And from inside he could've sworn he heard a faint whinny.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Morgause had kept talking for a while, enough to assure Arthur that Camelot was under attack and that Arthur needed to get back there. He knew he had to win this fight.

The first man was really too easy. Arthur cut him down within the first few minutes of the fight, but the other was proving more difficult. Had Arthur been at full strength, he could've won without too much trouble, but he wasn't. The prince's head still throbbed viciously, and he was feeling dizzy. Also, he was pretty sure there was a thin line of blood running down his head from where he'd bashed it, but he couldn't be sure. He wanted to throw up, too, but that would make him lose the fight for sure.

Meanwhile, Morgause watched with that twisted smile, quite content to watch and see if a hurt Arthur Pendragon could finish off her large, muscled henchman.

The man thrust his sword at Arthur, but the prince easily blocked it and immediately went for a strike of his own, but the man parried it easily. Arthur was beginning to have trouble with his sight—everything was spinning. Still, he spotted the blade coming towards him again, and only just managed to block it.

_This has to end…I can barely see, much less fight!_

Ignoring the part of his brain that told him this was very stupid, dangerous move, Arthur let himself stagger to the side. While he turned, his arm shot out, and the henchman in black had no time to block. In the next second, his head was at his feet.

Arthur stumbled away from all the blood, turning to face Morgause, his sword still held high. She was little more than a blonde blur, but after he'd wiped his own blood from his face (carefully avoiding the wound), and taken several deep, slow breaths, his sight began to clear.

Morgause shrugged and looked him up and down. "Not bad. But it's time to stop playing, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur had to bite back a moan as she muttered angry words under her breath, stretching out her hand, and a large ball of white light shot out from it, speeding towards Arthur. Before the prince could leap out of the way, though, the ball fizzled and turned to nothing.

Morgause gawked. "What? That's not possible!"

She shot another ball of magic, but with the same result. It disintegrated before it could touch the prince. After she realized that her magic wasn't working, her eyes roved about, trying to find the reason. Arthur missed the way her face lit up, for he was too busy coming to the same conclusions she had—she couldn't hurt him.

Arthur sagged in relief. He didn't know what was going on, but he wasn't going to argue. Lifting his sword up high, he went for Morgause, eyes blazing.

But he never got there, for Morgause did something that stopped him. She changed direction, threw out her arm, and screamed one word while her eyes turned a livid gold:

"_Poen!"_

Arthur froze and flinched at the undeniable magic in her words, but the spell didn't hit him. He looked down at himself, confused, and then he heard the scream behind him.

A scream that he'd never heard before, but he'd recognize the voice anywhere. He turned around in time to see Merlin hit the forest floor.

"Merlin!" he called, disbelieving, but the manservant didn't answer. He couldn't. He was on his back, in the forest, writhing with the force of the spell.

Arthur's eyes widened, and he turned back to Morgause. "Call that spell off!" he ordered, voice hoarse.

Her eyes were still gold, and her voice layered with enchantment, as she answered, "If you let me leave here."

Morgause realized that her spells –for some reason – weren't working on Arthur. And so she needed to escape, because he was armed and she was not. She'd thought to have her men to wave the swords about. Both men were now dead, and she was sunk—then she'd seen Merlin. Technically it was bad that she saw him, as his ability to leave the fighting probably meant that his side was winning. But she couldn't pass up the opportunity he gave her.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Merlin got there in time to block Morgause's spells. He hadn't expected her to see him there. He hadn't expected her to use him to make Arthur listen.

But now he was on the forest floor, his whole body on fire. His bones were being licked with invisible flames; small knives were at every nerve end, cruelly dissecting him….

Millimeter by millimeter…

His screams weren't voluntary. He was trying to call for help, trying to think of a spell, but he couldn't. Pain seemed to be swallowing his senses.

He could smell it and it was blood. He could taste it, and his tongue was coated with a metallic flavor. He could see it and it was a red cloud that shrouded his eyes. He could hear it and it was the sound of him crying out in misery, mixed in with Arthur calling his name. He sure as hell could feel it.

"_Merlin!" _He heard his name spoken in Arthur's voice, worried.

Arthur… Arthur could help him. Arthur always helped people, and Arthur could protect him now. _Arthur could make this pain, that drove everything else from his mind, disappear. _

But it didn't.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Let her go?

Arthur knew he couldn't let the sorceress go under any normal circumstances, but these were not normal. Merlin's tormented screams were echoing through the forest, and Arthur had to make those stop.

His sword immediately began to lower, and his mouth began to open to tell her that she could go.

But he stopped.

He really _couldn't_ let her go. If he did, she would be back. She would attack again… And more people would die. The sorceress could even destroy Camelot!

Behind him, Merlin's pale face was drenched in sweat, contorted into a waxy, grotesque mask. The servant screamed again, his body jerking as though he'd received a shock.

"I can't!" Arthur yelled, voice cracking. The words tore at his throat.

"I'll kill him!" she warned. "If you attack, I'll kill him! If you dawdle, I'll let him scream! He'll die!"

Arthur felt as though his stomach, his heart, all his insides, had been coated in ice. His headache throbbed with the blood pounding through his veins at an accelerated rate. He looked back at Merlin, and regretted it.

His helpless servant, his injured friend, couldn't stand the pain that had overtaken him. He was trying to talk, and his eyes were shut tightly. His back didn't touch the ground, but arched up into the air while his hands pounded on the forest floor, trying to force some of his torture into the roots, out of his small body.

Merlin forced out two words, barely recognizable because they were so twisted out of shape. _"Arthur! Help!"_

Arthur couldn't look at that. He would do anything to stop it; even hearing it hurt him. Merlin was begging him for help, asking the prince to make it stop… And Arthur did have the power to do that. But he couldn't let her go. People would be killed! _His people_.

Arthur looked into the hateful eyes of the sorceress, and he had to blink back tears.

He could let her go, and save the servant who didn't deserve the hell he was being put through. But more innocent people would die.

He could attack her, could kill her, could stop her from hurting his people any more. But she would simply speak a few words, and Merlin, still shrieking in ear-splitting agony, would die.


	14. 13: Of Ins and Outs

**Chapter Thirteen**

The thing was, Arthur knew what his choice had to be.

No, he knew what his choice _would_ be. Camelot always came first, even before his own life.

But if he did choose the right way – or just the lesser of two evils – he knew that he would never sleep soundly again. In that split second when Morgause waited and Merlin thrashed, Arthur found a sudden sureness—abandoning Merlin (and he forced himself not to shy away from those two words) would haunt him until the day he died.

But some things were more important than feelings, he knew. Merlin screamed, a sound he would never forget, and Arthur's free hand tightened instinctively, ready to fight. But duty and pain weren't really things he could punch in the face.

Arthur's eyes landed on the sorceress (_Look anywhere but Merlin,_ he thought, _anywhere but Merlin_), on her glowing gold eyes and outstretched hand, which kept the injured boy in this pain. That she-demon's hand. It was out of reach, but the sight of it almost seemed to burn into his eyes, because that hand was keeping him from saving Merlin.

Wait. Arthur's forehead scrunched up in thought.

It was odd, actually, that the hand should still be up. Arthur had seen plenty of destructive spells cast, and they only required a moment. A hand would go up; two eyes would flash dangerously; then, it was over and the survivors were left to deal with the damage. But Morgause's hand was not moving from its position and her eyes still burned fiercely. This was a continuous spell, he realized.

_She's still casting it. _

If she stopped, so would the spell. But if he did anything to make her stop casting, she might or might not still have time to cast a spell that would kill. And he wasn't willing to bet Merlin's life on her having slow reflexes.

Another prolonged yell from behind him sent his heart into his throat and nearly knocked the blossoming idea from Arthur's head, but he forced his mind to stay on task. He had to ignore the pounding of his head and unsteadiness of his legs.

The question was: Would he really be willing to die to save Merlin?

He remembered throwing the goblet, seeing Merlin fall to the ground, grabbing his servant's jaw and forcing cloth between his teeth, remembered holding him down, remembered hearing him rant in delirium. He recalled Merlin drinking poison and the time with the unicorn. He knew it had been a stupid question.

It had been three seconds since Morgause voiced her command. Three seconds full of thinking, and now Arthur had a plan. Not a very good one, but a plan nonetheless.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Bors fell.

It wasn't really that big of a deal; this had to be the third of fourth time he'd fallen in the past few minutes, because Sir Bors was exhausted. The trick was, he'd learned, don't fall with the blade pointing in, but rather pointed away from you. You were more likely to hit an enemy that way.

This time, unfortunately, he didn't hit one of the enemy, and his opponent was not above striking at a man while he was down.

The soldier swiped downwards with his sword, but Bors rolled out of the way, blindly thrusting out his blade as he did so. He heard a grunting sound and felt the sword hit flesh, but looked up to see that he had hit the attacker in the stomach.

The attacker seemed to shrug off the wound and went in for the kill again, but this time Bors sat up and drove the bloodied blade into the man's heart.

With a gargling sound, his opponent died, pitching forward and landing on Bors's lap.

_Disgusting…_

Bors pushed the corpse away, getting blood on his gauntlet and not caring, too busy to even feel sick. He leapt to his feet, ready to face the next attacker…

There wasn't one.

Confused, he lowered his blade slightly (going against one of the many things Arthur Pendragon had drilled into his skull) and looked around.

He heard a whooping sound, and glancing that way, he caught sight of Leon with his fist in the air, cheering himself hoarse.

"Leon!" he called, and his fellow knight beamed in his direction.

Leon laughed a little wildly, pushing his long, light brown hair away from his face, letting his sword hang at his side. "Merlin was right!" he yelled back. "We won! The rest are running! We won! Ha-ha!" Others began to join with his cheering.

For his part, Bors only caught one thing he'd said. They'd won. Grinning, Bors fell back onto the ground, sword still pointed away, and this time he made no effort to get back up again. They'd won. Such beautiful news.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Morgause heard the shouts and felt her chest tighten. This meant she'd lost, and now she couldn't even kill that prig of a prince. Rage boiled up in her, but she knew that she had to swallow it for now; this time she just needed to cut her losses and hope to escape with her life.

Arthur seemed to be hesitating, which made her wonder if he was less attached to that manservant than Morgana seemed to think. She growled deep in her throat, trying desperately not to show the panic hiding just below the rage.

"Come on, Prince Arthur!" she hissed through her teeth, raising her hand and closing her fingers over her palm furiously.

Merlin responded immediately, his screams escalating into a crescendo. It had been only seconds, but his voice was hoarse, and his body jerked along the forest floor like a spider that was only half-dead and frantic to escape the next blow.

She had to admit it was quite heartbreaking, really. No way could Arthur say no to that kind of pain.

But Arthur, for his part, only spared his manservant a single look before springing into action. His arm stretched back, sword poised like a javelin, and then he threw it.

Not to the ground in defeat, not to the side, but directly at her. Directly at her, the woman who held the power of life or death over his manservant.

In the blink of an eye, she moved her hand (unthinkingly calling off her first spell) and screamed, "_Bloc_!" She didn't even notice when Merlin calmed immediately, his screams turning into nothing more than an echo.

The sword stopped in midair, hitting the blue shimmering shield she'd thrown up, and then it fell uselessly to the ground.

Her eyes lit up with rage—he'd defied her command! Well, his servant would pay for that with his life.

Her hand up once more, she turned to Merlin… and saw only Arthur. The prince had leapt to the side as he threw his sword, and now he crouched in front of his manservant, who was spread-eagle on the forest floor, protectively. He was directly in the path of any spell that Morgause could send out.

Morgause snarled, prepared to kill them both… but froze. In her moment of hesitation, she remembered her other spells and how they failed to even reach Arthur, much less do damage.

Arthur flinched when he saw her hand rise in his direction, but stood firm, mindful of Merlin, who was so unnaturally still behind him. He just hoped that when he was dead, she wouldn't waste her short time killing Merlin—for he, too, heard the victory shouts.

He prepared himself for death, tensing his shoulders, but it didn't come.

Arthur was a man of action, so he didn't waste a second. In a flash, he was upright, but still in between Morgause and Merlin, and he dived for his sword on the ground.

Morgause gave a cry of alarm when he went for his weapon, but her eyes didn't flash gold, and no magic slammed into him. He gripped it by the hilt, standing up again and facing her with a look of fury on his handsome face.

The witch knew that the time to bow out had come when she saw the way that blade glimmered in the sunlight. With one last venomous look at the pair, she turned and fled into the forest.

Arthur tried to follow her, his eyes locked on the blonde waves as they swung around and ran into the forest. He felt his sword come up, his back straighten, and he began to run after her.

But, without warning, his battle strength left him. Suddenly his legs couldn't hold him, and he fell to the ground, gasping. It was over. His head still hurt; blood still painted lines down his face; Merlin didn't move. But it was undeniably, finally _over_. She was gone.

He had to get to Merlin. God knew what kind of damage that spell had done to him… He turned, using his hands to navigate his suddenly clumsy and exhausted body around, and began to crawl to the manservant who was sprawled unmoving on the ground.

But his body had other ideas. His stomach clenched. Arthur's head began to spin wildly until he didn't know which way was up, and his muscles in his abdomen began to tighten… He just managed to fall on all fours before his mouth opened of its own accord and he vomited.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

The pain stopped, and Merlin sagged in relief. _Oh, gods,_ he thought, _it's over._

But he waited resignedly for the next bout of pain. He knew that she wouldn't leave him be. Somehow, miraculously, impossibly, the pain didn't come back, and he began to believe that it was ended for good.

If he'd been able to, he'd have laughed and cried, shouted in joy. But he was just too weak… He focused on breathing, just breathing and living and being free except for the fading pricks of pain and the memory.

_In, out. In, out. I can breathe; isn't it wonderful? That was so horrible… I can never do that again, never…_

Panic began to rear its ugly head, and he forced it down through willpower. He just lacked the energy to go into hysteria.

In, out.

_That shouldn't have happened. It's never happened before. I should've blocked that, should've seen it coming…_

But he hadn't seen it coming. He hadn't known she would suddenly turn away from Arthur, and all his meager energy had been focused on protecting the prince.

_I should've stopped the spell in mid-air, then. _

But he'd been so tired… So tired, and so scared. He'd heard her cast the spell, and his mind flew back to Morgana and being helpless. He'd… he'd just… He'd panicked. Frozen. Been completely and totally paralyzed by terror, but just for a second.

And then it was too late, and he couldn't think any longer because waves of agony were tossing him about.

Anxiety began to rise again, and his body trembled.

_No, calm! In, out. In, out. In, out. Deep breaths. Don't tremble; don't shake…_

He started on his feet, forcing them to be still. Then he moved his thoughts to his legs, bracing them. Moving on, he told his midsection to stop shivering, to be still as stone.

…And then his feet began trembling again.

Merlin spent the next five minutes trying to pull himself together into something that even remotely resembled the man he'd been a few days ago. Meanwhile, Arthur threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach but bile, and the pain in his head had receded slightly.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

They all tried to thank Bors. But Bors didn't want to be thanked; he wanted to sleep. That blasted squire, Hector, refused to allow him to lie there like a corpse on the street, and so he leaned against a building (hopefully the owner didn't mind) and closed his eyes. Of course, every man who'd picked up a weapon surrounded him, thanking him unrelentingly for tipping them off about the head-and-heart thing.

"Not me," he mumbled. "Leon figured it out."

They all tried to thank Leon, but he shook his head and modestly admitted that he'd only passed on the word himself; Merlin, the prince's manservant, had figured it out, probably by watching the battle.

That, naturally, woke Bors up. "Nonsense," he said gruffly, staring at Leon in disbelief. "The prince's manservant can't even walk, much less save everyone's lives."

"Sir Bors," whispered Hector, looking around nervously. "He can. I saw him."

He was inclined to think Hector needed more sleep, but then a nearby young woman stopped showering her husband in kisses and murmuring 'thank the stars' long enough to agree with Hector. "We saw him pass by," she said. "He looked like he was in pain, but he was _running_. Maybe Gaius gave him something."

Bors gawked at her. Only that morning, Merlin had been delirious! But before he could express his doubts, which no one seemed interested in anyway, she went right back to what she had been doing.

But all the talk of Arthur's manservant led them to a more important subject: Arthur himself.

Where was the prince? In the heat of battle, no one noticed his absence, but now it was painfully obvious.

"Start in the city itself," ordered Leon. "We need to look for him!"

Bors groaned with exhaustion but pushed off the wall and to his feet. No rest for the weary, he supposed; it was one disaster after another. First the manservant, then the battle, now the prince.

"Hector," he hissed to his squire, "if I fall, catch me."

"Yes, milord." The blond boy smiled slightly.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

At last, Arthur managed to regain control of his stomach, moaning slightly. He used leaves from a shorter tree to wipe his mouth, not wanting to get the vomit on his clothes. He spit multiple times, desperate to get the taste out of his mouth, but it never went completely.

Finishing that, he turned his attention back to his servant. Staggering slightly, he walked to Merlin and fell to his knees beside the prone figure.

"Merlin?" he called softly, hopefully, watching his chest rise and fall in rhythm. In, out. In, out.

Merlin didn't respond out loud, but a small grimace crossed his white face.

"Merlin, come on. We need to get back to Camelot. Gaius needs to take care of you…" Arthur trailed off, forehead creasing in concern. He wasn't sure if Merlin was unconscious or not, or if the spell still held some thrall over him.

Arthur arm snaked out, about to take Merlin by the arm, but he stopped. His mind flew back to the past couple of days, how Merlin seemed to react badly every time the prince laid a finger on him. He didn't want to see that happen again; it felt like a slap in the face from his _friend_.

But he needed to know if Merlin was in danger of dying on the spot, so he screwed up his courage and put his hand down firmly on the dark-haired man's arm.

Merlin's deep blue eyes flew open at once and landed on Arthur as swiftly as two magnets drawn to metal. There was no emotion in them.

"…Merlin?" he said softly, almost pleadingly.

Merlin opened his mouth, but only a croak came out.

"You don't need to speak," Arthur told him at once, putting up a hand to keep Merlin from talking. But, as usual, Merlin had no qualms about disobeying him.

"This…" he gasped. "This… is why…. I will… n- _never_ be your servant… in the next life. With you, it always… always turns out… badly… _for me_." His chest seemed to shake with every word spoken, as though he struggled to breathe.

Arthur tried to laugh, but he couldn't. Because it seemed that Merlin was right, even if it had been meant as a joke. "I'm sorry, Merlin," he assured the man gently. "I'm sorry. This is my fault… Can you walk?"

Merlin shook his head, then drew in a sharp breath as though it hurt. What little blood there was left in his face drained, and he looked sick. His eyes closed, and one tear worked its way from under his eyelid.

Ignoring fact that his servant was crying, Arthur said, "Okay, I'm going to have to get you back to Camelot somehow, Merlin. You need to see Gaius. Do you understand me?"

He didn't really expect the manservant to answer, what with the hoarseness of his voice, what with the pain moving his head seemed to cause him. But Merlin proved himself to be brave all over again by croaking, "Yes, Sire."

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Hector saw the prince first. They hadn't yet extended the search to outside the city walls, and Camelot was crawling with people searching all over. Uther was frantic.

What with all of that, Arthur stumbled right through the gates, a limp body held bridal style in his arms, and hardly anyone noticed.

Luckily Hector (who was smarter than he looked and very nervous about returning enemies) was watching the gates, and sent out the joyous call immediately. The people who heard him called out to others, and so on, and within seconds all of Camelot knew.

"The prince! He's back! Prince Arthur's okay!"

The crowd swarmed about him, giving the prince no room to breathe, much less move. Arthur looked around nervously, his eyes bright and face pale. He couldn't understand why everyone was staring at him with a mixture of relief and horror.

Maybe it had something to do with the crusted blood that covered his face, or the half-dead man in his arms, the gash on his forehead, or even the dried brown stuff around the corner of his mouth.

Exhausted, feeling claustrophobic, looking around like a wild animal, Arthur fell to his knees yet again, but this time on the cobblestones amid his own people.

"Move outta the way! Everybody, move! Go home!" That was Bors and a few other knights, clearing a path towards their prince.

"Come now, everyone move; I'm the physician." There was Gaius.

"Arthur! Arthur!" If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought that was Gwen.

"Oh, no, Merlin!" And that was the ever-present Blair.

"Sire." Suddenly, Arthur dizzily saw that Gaius was beside him. "What's wrong?"

"My head," he mumbled, blinking wildly, lowering Merlin gently to the ground in front of him. "'M fine, just hurts... Ow…"

"You probably have a concussion," said Gaius firmly. "Nothing to worry about." His craggy face loomed in Arthur's sight, intent on helping the prince, but Arthur wasn't stupid. He saw the way Gaius's eyes flickered to the still servant, and he knew that was who Gaius really wanted to be helping right now.

"Check on Merlin," he ordered as sternly as he could, trying not to sway this way and that. "He… he walked into the forest… I think he was trying to help."

"What happened to him?" Gaius leaned over Merlin, gingerly lifting his eyelids, but Arthur couldn't be sure it was him who spoke. It didn't matter.

"Morgause used a spell… I don't know; Gaius, he was screaming and everything…" Arthur tried to get up.

"Morgause?"

Arthur nodded, and he felt a pair of hands on him, lifting him to his feet. They belonged to Bors.

"Gaius, is he going to be alright?" asked the knight, peering down at the barely conscious, silent servant.

Before Gaius could answer, a loud voice floated over the sound of the repressed crowd, who were slowly but surely trickling home. "Arthur! Merlin!" called the musical voice, and then Morgana was there, clinging to the prince's arm.

"Morgana," said the prince slowly. Merlin's eyes flickered at the sound of her voice.

Her voice held a hint of tears. "Arthur, are you alright? What happened to Merlin? I'm so sorry I left; I couldn't find you… I thought… Did you say Morgause? What happened?"

He was much too tired to answer all her babbling questions, so instead he just mumbled, "She got away. Hurt Merlin… It's okay…"

Morgana sagged in relief at the news that her sister was unharmed, but only Merlin, who was now watching her blearily, noticed. "Thank heavens you're okay, Arthur! I didn't mean to leave… I thought that I saw bandits in the wood and I had to tell you…" Arthur distantly recalled that Morgana had been kidnapped by people like that. No wonder she had run to him.

"It's fine, Morgana…"

"No, I blame myself," she said, perhaps going a bit overboard. Then she looked down and saw Merlin's gaze on her, his blue eyes filled with fury… not that anyone else saw. His hands were clenched, and she knew he wanted nothing more than to break her neck.

She smirked at him. And again, no one noticed. No one ever saw the things that went on between the two of them.

Merlin just managed to growl, but it passed as a weak moan, and everyone's attention turned back to him.

"Is he okay, Gaius?" asked Bors again. "That man saved all of Camelot today."

"Gaius, please say he'll live," begged the prince, worried about the effect that the run would have on his already injured servant.

Gaius looked down at Merlin, breathing shallowly, and felt his pulse, but he didn't hesitate to say straight out what he thought. "Sire, the spell she used didn't harm him physically, from what I can tell. And any man who can run across Camelot to find you… He may be weak, Arthur, but I think he's going to make it."

In the distance, Hector gave a faint sigh of relief. Morgana tried not to glower. Leon smiled.

"Yes, I think he'll make it," repeated Gaius, beaming but professional. "All we need is time."

And right then and there, Arthur's knees gave out. Bors's grip on him tightened, keeping him upright, but his head drooped. Arthur wanted to thank Bors for saving him the indignity of falling, but he found he couldn't speak.

Merlin was going to live. It was like a miracle.

In the middle of the courtyard, Gwen began to cry; big, loud tears of hope and joy. The sun shone down all the more merrily. Even Uther, who entered at that moment, was glad, if only because his boy was safe. They were in the middle of a corpse-strewn battle field, and still everyone was happy. Merlin would live. Uther called him 'Gaius's boy', and Arthur called him 'friend'. Bors said 'hero', and Gaius, 'son'. They and most of Camelot, excepting the furious Lady Morgana, were overjoyed because a servant boy who was much more than a servant was going to live.

Only one person couldn't seem to find it within himself to care one way or another. That was Merlin; for his part, he just closed his eyes again and breathed, oblivious to the strong feelings around him. In, out. In, out.


	15. 14: Of Normalcy

**Epilogue**

Of course Uther wanted to give Merlin a reward for discovering the army's weakness. Remembering the _last_ time Uther rewarded him, the poor boy went straight to Arthur (well, more zigzagged, as he could hardly walk) and practically begged to be saved. Arthur, who was at that moment willing to do almost anything the still-recovering manservant asked, hid Merlin until the 'reward' talk blew over.

Uther also wanted to go to war with Cenred. Merlin knew that with Morgause on the other king's side, they didn't really stand a chance unless he stepped up… And Merlin was all for avoiding conflict at that point in time. Gaius saved the day by talking in circles in his dry, professional voice until anyone but Uther wouldn't have been sure who attacked whom. Eventually Uther agreed not to fight just now, though Cenred had of course been asking for it, on the grounds of… something political. All Merlin knew was that the words 'proof' and 'treaty' came up a lot.

Then, Uther wanted to get a new manservant for Arthur until Merlin was well (or perhaps longer… Merlin never had been a great manservant…), and here Arthur stepped up to help Merlin keep his job, sending servants away from him, going on a hunting trip every other day, and being a general prat until no one would have willingly worked for him. Most of the servants weren't too keen to have that job anyway; everyone knew that Arthur was Merlin's job. Few servants cared to try their hand at it.

With Uther placated (or at least out of the way), the rest of Camelot was free to try and fit itself back into a normal routine. But events like those don't just blow over in a day… or even a week…

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"_No."_

_Morgause's sneer loomed before him, but he didn't back down as he spoke his refusal. Her pink lips, twisted into that horrible expression, pulled up into the suggestion of a smile, and she spoke again the word that had been echoing in Arthur's brain for what felt like lifetimes._

"Poen."

_And then there was Merlin, screaming and thrashing. His legs kicked over the ground uselessly. _

_And Arthur shook his head, hard as a rock. "No."_

_His fingers grappled with the ground, trying to find something to grab onto, something solid to hold him._

_Arthur looked Morgause right in her shining gold eyes and shook his head. "I won't."_

_Merlin's eyes squeezed shut, but Arthur's stayed open, unrelenting. _

_She said it again. _"Poen."

_Merlin screamed until the trees shook. _

_Arthur was unmoved. _

_Morgause kept repeated the spell. _

_It happened over and over and over… A cycle… Pain, Refusal, Magic, Pain, Refusal, Magic…_

And, of course, that's when Arthur woke up in his bed, sweat covering his half-dressed body, and wiped the perspiration away from the dark circles that adorned his eyes.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since those dark days, since Arthur's manservant lay dying in the physician's chambers, since Morgause raised her cursed hand and shoved her way into Arthur's nightmares. Two weeks. A fortnight. Fourteen days.

And this was his eleventh nightmare since that goblet left his hand. Yes, he'd counted. Sometimes in his nightmares, Merlin was delirious, and other times he was awake but he hates Arthur for what the prince had done. Sometimes Morgause had him under her torturing spell and Arthur refused to or couldn't help. In one horrible dream, Gwen was the one who turned her back on Arthur forever.

Arthur never slept with water by his bed anymore. He'd rather die of thirst.

It seemed his careless action and its repercussions were still haunting him. And not just at night, either.

Merlin was becoming a problem, too. If Arthur just listened to what he said, the tone he used, or even, most of the time, his body language, then he would've thought Merlin was fine. But Arthur saw his eyes, strangely dull and afraid, above two circles so dark that they could be bruises. His face was as white as a sheet all the time now, rarely with even a splash of color on it. He was only allowed to work several hours a day, and nothing strenuous. He wouldn't have been allowed to do that, but after a week and a half of recuperating, Merlin had begun to go stir-crazy with cabin fever. Even Gwen could barely stand him, and so he was allowed to work again, despite the fact that he looked like a ghost that had lost a fistfight.

And physical problems weren't the only kind Arthur noticed. For one thing, Merlin was rarely alone in the same room with Arthur now. Even when he was working, he liked to have the door open so that he wouldn't feel cut off from anyone in the hall. The first few times he did this, Arthur closed the door because he liked it closed. Merlin didn't complain, not wanting to hurt Arthur's feelings by confessing that being alone with the prince made him nervous. Despite his silence, Arthur noticed his discomfort and how he kept glancing restlessly at the door as though he wanted to escape. And Arthur's feelings _were_ hurt, but he let the door open from then on unless he absolutely had to have it closed.

Also, Merlin didn't turn his back on the prince anymore. If his chores brought him to the opposite side of the room than Arthur, he would do it while facing the prince. During the brief times when this was not possible, he continually glanced over his shoulder, checking every few seconds. Arthur (with a sinking feeling in his chest) asked Merlin about it, commenting that he would hurt his neck if he kept that up.

He had only been teasing, of course, but Merlin immediately became defensive and insisted he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. The way he said it, though, with a shaky voice and wide eyes, assured Arthur that his assumption had been right—Merlin, the most disrespectful, brave, and impertinent idiot ever, was actually scared of his friend and master.

But all of those things were nothing compared to the worst change of all—Merlin's_ eyes_. They weren't just dull and afraid. They were glassy, always lacking that spark they used to carry. The blue orbs weren't steady anymore either. Every few minutes they would flit about whatever room he was in, as though checking every escape route. They were drawn to the slightest movement. There was no amusement or laughter in them anymore. When Merlin smiled, his eyes remained the same, wary with a tint of melancholy. Arthur would swear that though he smiled and laughed and occasionally cracked a joke, he didn't mean any of it.

It was downright_ creepy_, actually, to see his manservant with a stranger's eyes.

Would things _ever_ get back to being normal?

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Arthur had no way of knowing that as he lay in bed, sweating over something that never happened except in his dreams, Merlin was waking up with tears rolling down his face.

If Gaius heard his ward in distress, he would have coming running at once. For about a week after Morgause and Morgana's attempt, Merlin had appreciated his attempt to soothe the warlock's fear, but when Gaius was so sleep-deprived that he began to resemble the living dead, Merlin knew it had to stop. Gaius's patients needed him aware, and besides, Merlin didn't wish to drive the physician mad with worry.

So, after just a few whispered spells, Gaius became convinced that his ward made a very amazing recovery, and Merlin suffered through the nightmares alone. In two weeks, he relived the sting of Arthur's (accidental) betrayal many times, almost as often as he recalled the helplessness he felt when Morgana had him at her mercy.

Nights were pretty bad for Merlin.

He much preferred days now. Though often he found his thoughts dwelling on the events of that day (or rather, that whole week), he could usually remind himself to think of something cheerful. Everything seemed more somber and serious now, but it wasn't like he had no joy at all. As long as he didn't think _too_ hard.

No, considering some of the times he'd gone through in his life, Merlin wasn't all that bad off during the day, though nights, of course, were hell.

But Arthur worried him. The prince was watching Merlin all the time now, in a way that he found a little odd. Arthur rarely took his eyes off of Merlin when they were together, and it made the warlock uncomfortable. He seemed to be waiting for the manservant to just fall over dead all the sudden. And then there was the fact that he wouldn't touch Merlin.

Oh, Arthur had never been touchy-feely – the idea was laughable. It was like the thought of Arthur becoming emotional. But lately his aversion to personal contact had crossed the borders of ridiculous. Once, Merlin accidentally brushed against him when leaving the room. Arthur's recoil and obvious expression of alarm had offended him a little, but Merlin had been willing to overlook it—until Arthur began to act as if Merlin was the one who panicked at the tiniest touch. What, did he think Merlin was glass? Did he imagine that his manservant would shatter if Arthur so much as patted his shoulder?

Merlin wouldn't deny that he wasn't crazy at the idea of being touched right now either – okay, a lie; he'd deny it until he was blue in the face, because he didn't want Arthur to suffer for what happened any more than he wanted Gaius to – but Arthur was taking it a little too far, and Merlin was not made of glass.

The warlock wondered if things would ever return to normal.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Two weeks and two days since Arthur nearly ended his manservant's life.

And he _really _needed to stop counting now.

Arthur strolled into his room, wiping the sweaty hair from his face and wishing desperately to be out of his armor. Merlin sat in the corner, his back from the open door, doggedly shining Arthur's boots.

Arthur gently placed his sword on a table near the wall, stretching his sore muscles as he did so and slamming the door behind him.

Merlin's eyebrows came together inadvertently and he couldn't seem to keep himself from glancing concernedly at the door, which had become normal behavior for him. Arthur noticed him doing so, which had become normal behavior for_ him_.

"I'll open it after I dress," he assured the manservant.

Merlin shrugged too casually. "It doesn't matter to me if it's open, Sire. Do whatever you want." He turned back to the boots but the muscles in his back were tense.

Arthur stared at him. Two weeks and two days of _this_, of Merlin denying anything was wrong when _nothing_ was _right_! He couldn't take it anymore. How dare Merlin act as though he wasn't still hurting?

"No," said Arthur slowly, standing in the middle of the room and looking at his manservant's back. "I know you'd rather it be open."

Merlin turned around and looked at him for several moments. The words were perfectly innocent, of course, but somehow they were also a challenge.

_Tell me. Admit to me that something is wrong. Don't pretend like you're the same as always; I know better. _

Merlin smiled politely. It didn't reach his eyes. "Alright, then. If you'd rather it open, that's fine too."

Translation: _I don't want to talk. It's easier to pretend. _

"Merlin…" Arthur's voice was low but light-hearted, belying how very serious he felt.

_Tell me, Merlin. Tell me what's wrong with you. It's my fault, I know that. _

Merlin studied him coolly for a second, and then shrugged as though he couldn't understand for the life of him what the prince was getting at. He turned back around and faced his chore.

_No, Arthur. I won't. _

Arthur kept his gaze on the manservant for a moment, and then decided it would probably be wisest to just get changed out of his training clothes. He turned, too, therefore missing the wary glance Merlin shot over his shoulder, and started for the changing screen. Gaius had told the prince to be tactful; Merlin would open up in time, and then they could help him heal. Gwen had echoed this message, speaking with all the authority being a girl gave her on emotions.

But then, thought Arthur, stopping in his tracks, how did they know that was what Merlin needed? He knew his manservant as well as they did! Besides, 'Arthur' and 'subtle' had never exactly gone together.

"_Mer_lin," he barked, the name coming out in an explosion of breath.

The manservant jumped and looked back at Arthur's stormy face, dropping the polishing rag. "What?" he asked defensively.

"There's something wrong with you."

Merlin seemed to ponder this. "Well, thanks! Should I be offended?"

"No, I'm being serious."

"I'm a little sore and tired, but other than that I'm fine, thanks."

This was getting no where. If Merlin was a knight, Arthur would whack him over the head and be done with it. But he wasn't. He was Merlin, and the prince had learned the lesson about hitting him… Two weeks and two days ago.

Arthur walked over, sighing, and plopped down on the floor beside Merlin. The manservant went back to rubbing on the boots, but his he watched Arthur out of the corner of his eyes. The prince considered putting his hand on Merlin's shoulder and decided against it.

"Merlin, we're all worried about you. I've noticed—"

"There's a first time for everything," muttered Merlin under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"I thought," said Merlin carefully, "that you said you were noticing things? Yet you can't even hear what I say while sitting right next to me?"

"If you weren't such a mumbler—" started the prince, but Merlin cut him off again.

"There's no such word. I thought you were trying to impress me with your superior intellect and observational skills?" Merlin was smiling as he spoke, still looking down at his chore.

Arthur couldn't help but get defensive. "And yet you use 'dollop head'!"

Merlin sighed and put down the boot he was holding. "I keep telling you, Arthur, it is _idiomatic_. If you can understand a word with so many syllables."

Arthur opened his mouth to shoot back a teasing reply, but something made him stop. And then he realized. Merlin was sitting right next to him, and not shying away. He was looking right at Arthur just like he used to do. And best of all—he was smiling.

And for the first time in two weeks and two days, the smile lit up his whole face and the laughter was in his eyes.

It was as though, at that moment, both boys knew the truth. Things could, for the most part, be normal again, even if Merlin didn't want to talk just now. This episode would never be completely forgotten, and prince and servant would carry the scars around as long as they lived.

But scars shrink. There are some scars that can barely even be seen, and yet the lesson learned by receiving them never goes away.

Both knew at that moment, when Arthur's mouth hung open like a fish's and Merlin's eyes shone with mirth, that things _could_ and _would_ be normal. No matter how long it took.

And then Arthur, being Arthur, ruined the dramatic moment by remarking in his condescending way, "So other than my lack of intelligence and dearth of real words at my disposal," – and Arthur wasn't even sure he'd used those phrases correctly – "do you have any other problems with your _future king_?" His eyebrows rose up to his bangs.

Merlin nodded seriously. "Yes. You scuff your shoes up _much_ too quickly. And… can I tell you something, in all honesty?"

He leaned forward. "Arthur, you smell really, _really_ bad."

"_I beg your pardon?"_ Arthur leapt to his feet and crossed the room in a bound, reaching his arm out. But Merlin saw things headed that way and, giggling like an idiot, jumped to his feet, diving for the door. He didn't quite make it in time, though, and there was soft _phlump! _sound as the thing Arthur had lobbed at him bounced off the back of his head.

Arthur and Merlin laughed. For a prince was a prince and a prat was a prat, no matter what; Arthur just _had_ to throw things. And pillows, at least, were safe.


	16. I've Been Officially OutWhumped

TO ALL READERS:

I'm a horrible person for writing this story, and I'm sure you all know it.

Well, here's the proof and the payback all rolled into one highly hilarious little package.

**PoisoningPigeonsinthePark**, the one and only, has written a story called "The WhumpOff" in which Merlin finally get the chance to fight back for all the horrible things I and other whump-ers do to him. I think you'll love it as much as I do. It can be found on my favorites, so please check it out! This is something that only the crazy and humor-deprived will want to miss… I mean, I'm the one being whumped, and I think it's hilarious.

It can be found on my favorites, like I said. Or in my community Epic Wins. Or by searching it.

Thank you! I hope you enjoy it and laugh at **PPitP**'s wit as much as I did.


End file.
